


that's what you get for dreaming aloud.

by oh_no_oh_dear



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, Everyone Loves Sam Wilson, F/M, Light BDSM, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sam-Centric, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-06-09 20:21:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 80,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6921910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_no_oh_dear/pseuds/oh_no_oh_dear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve likes Bucky (duh.) Bucky likes Steve (double-duh.) Sam likes Steve (kinda duh.) Steve likes Sam (who wouldn't?) Bucky likes Sam (wat)</p><p>Sam...likes Bucky? (stop the madness)</p><p>The slowest of slow burns. Occasional angst. Much kissing ensues. Maybe more also ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. how optimism led me astray

The first few times he had opted for hot cocoa mixed into his coffee at breakfast, Sam had had to endure some pretty brutal (but good-natured) ribbing from the other two.

    “First of all, _you_ put about 7 spoons of sugar in your coffee,” he eventually shot at Steve, “and second of all: it’s my damn house, so I’m gonna drink whatever I want. And speaking of ‘my house’ … it was some heavy stuff the first time, so I get it… but you guys can’t just drop in like that, ok?”

    “Figured Steve could learn how to make some decent coffee,” Bucky quipped dryly, biting into some toast.

    Sam’s mouth quivered slightly, but he settled for an eyeroll instead. It was hard to get a read on Barnes; sometimes he was all easy charm and humour, and at other times… something would come over him. His eyes would go flat and his voice as cold as his alias. It made all of them edgy sometimes, none moreso than Sam. The man had tried to kill him, after all-- and he wasn’t able to take a super-powered hit like Steve could.

    “ _Any_ way,” Sam continued, “you know I’m 100% in with… this. Avenging. But I need my space, y’know?”

Especially from friggin’ Barnes. Cap might think that the sun shone out of his metal behind, but Sam was still trying to warm up to him.

It wasn’t going well.

Nodding once to show he understood Sam's wishes, Steve pushed his plate away and reached for the coffee.

    “Did you want us to head off soon?” he asked, a little too casually. Sam caught himself hoping he hadn’t hurt the super-soldier’s feelings. He may be nigh-indestructible on the outside, but he was a little sensitive at times.

    “Not _soon_ -soon,” Sam allowed, pointedly ignoring Barnes’s request for more juice, “just… wanna be alone later, ok? We can chill today, but I’m kicking your sorry asses out in the evening.” At this, Steve visibly brightened (in the background, Barnes sulkily got up to get his own juice from the fridge.)

    Although Steve was still moony-eyed over the fact that Barnes was back (well… _mostly_ back), he, Sam, had been a calm port in a hurricane of sudden modernity / mayhem / a _whole_ lot of people trying to kill him, so he visited fairly often.

    Sam, for his part, enjoyed Steve’s company immensely... but he wasn’t a hotel, and his entire life didn’t revolve around Steve & co. He made that clear often enough, in his own way (he had a plethora of suave and charming ways of telling various Avengers to fuck off.) But the real sticking point had been Bucky fuckin’ Barnes.

\-----------------

_"No.”_

_"_ _Okay-- that’s fair. I understand. But he’s not gonna hurt you--”_

_“--again--”_

_“....yeah... again. Look, he’s real sorry about that...”_

_“_ _Let him tell me that to my face, Rogers.” (Steve was only “Rogers” when Sam was truly angry.)_

 _“_ _He will,” Steve had said, his jaw tightening. Barnes had a lot of making up to do, no matter how much Steve said it wasn’t his fault. Even Barnes agreed with that._

 _(“I still_ did _those things,” Barnes had said dully during one such back-and-forth. “So yeah, it's at least part my fault.”)_

 _“_ _Sam, I wouldn’t ask you if we had any other choice. You’re the only one we can trust right now-”_

_“Shit. Okay. Shit. A few days. Tops.”_

_“_ _Thank you, Sam. We really appreciate it. It’s been a rough few weeks. Not so much time for apartment-hunting.”_

_“Sure,” Sam muttered, bitterly thinking ‘Winter Soldier in my goddamn house, as though I don’t have enough Avengers calling me at every hour of the fucking-’_

\-----------------

    “...the rest, okay? Sam?” Sam was absently drumming his fingers along the countertop, levelling a blank, none-too-friendly look at a random spot on the wall.

    “Sam?”

    “Hm-- yeah?” he blinked, startled out of whatever bad-tempered reverie he’d sunk into.

    “Buck said he’d do the dishes,” Steve repeated, piling said dishes carefully into the sink and turning to lean against the fridge.

    Sam briefly marvelled at the way the seemingly humble man always chose shirts that were a little on the small side… and always seemed to casually pose at just the right angle to best show off his impressive physique.

Or maybe that was just in Sam’s head.

    He dragged his eyes away from Steve’s crossed arms (but not quickly enough for Bucky not to see and raise his eyebrows). “Yeah, dishes. Thanks,” Sam said hastily in Bucky’s general direction. “Look, I gotta do some stuff… I’ll… be back soon.”

    Steve quirked an eyebrow and unfolded his arms. Sam suddenly found his mouth to be very dry. As Sam slipped from the room to grab his jacket, Steve and Bucky exchanged a look.

    “He said _thanks_ ,” Bucky mouthed silently at Steve, raising his eyebrows in mock-surprise. Steve shrugged and made an exaggerated grimace.

    “Don’t break anything. I know how you like that.” Sam’s voice echoed faintly from the front of the apartment before he left, shutting the door behind him. Bucky sighed.

So much for progress.


	2. two hundred things i take the wrong way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Sam takes a breather, Bucky realises he might be sprung, and Steve tries to give them all high cholesterol.

    By the time Sam caught the bus and sat down, his mood had lifted slightly. He’d felt too stifled (in his own home, no less) by the two super-soldiers. Their complicated history, their big personalities, and their literal physical _bigness..._ it was just too much sometimes. He needed a little downtime with a regular ol’ mortal.

    Who happened to be his ex-girlfriend.  
  
    Sam reached into his pocket, unlocking his phone and tapping out a quick message.

 _SAM W.: b there soon._  
_  
_     Within seconds, an answer popped up on his screen.  
  
_A. CHAHAL: bring ice cream if ur coming 2 bitch about ur super-bf again,_ followed by an eyeroll emoji.

    Sam scoffed lightly. After a moment, he ruefully typed “ice cream parlour” into Google maps.  
  
    Anaya greeted him at the door, her long dark hair in a plait down her back and a massive cup of tea in her hands. Her impossibly dark eyes were already studying his face, her brows drawn in consternation. He'd often shown up on her doorstep in varying degrees of fucked-up; from Riley's death to his confused feelings for other men, she'd been there for him.

   “Easy, easy. It’s nothing heavy, just need a breather,” Sam reassured her, holding up a plastic bag and showing off his peace offering of a tub of pistachio ice cream. She laughed, visibly relieved, and stepped aside to let him in. Sam only took a moment to put the ice cream away before turning and sweeping her up in his arms. She squealed and kicked wildly as she always did, stopping abruptly when she felt his sudden hardness pressing against her.  
  
   “I thought you were here to vent?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. Sam grinned.

   “Who said that meant talking?”

\---  
  
   “Okay,” she said, crossing her arms across her bare breasts and sucking melting ice cream off a spoon, “so this guy's, what, cutting in on your time with ol’ Glory?”

   Anaya Chahal, a brilliant but severely underpaid physicist and part-time dance teacher, had met Sam at university. She’d seen him pour both hot chocolate and coffee into his cup one morning in the cafeteria, and had been unable to resist telling him how grossthat was (she changed her mind later when she tried it herself.) He’d laughed, she’d laughed, he’d asked her out for coffee (and hot chocolate), she’d said yes…  
  
    Soon enough they were almost inseparable, but after 4 months of dating, they’d admitted to each other that despite the initial attraction, a romantic spark just wasn’t there. They had happily remained close friends (and occasional fuck-buddies) for almost 10 years. Anaya’s parents _adored_ Sam, and although she and Sam had been apart far longer than they’d been together, the Chahals still secretly hoped that their daughter would ‘settle down’... and give them some gorgeous, super-smart Indian/Black grandkids. (Not happening.)  
  
    Sam pulled a face. “That sucked -- ‘Ol’ Glory.’ Jesus.”  
  
    “ _You_ suck,” she shot back, languidly sticking the spoon into the ice cream tub. “Whatever. So… Barnes is getting all the attention? And you’re literally a jealous 13 year old?”  
  
   Sam felt his face go hot. “ _No,_ I--”  
  
    “Did you even tell Cap you _like_ -like him?” Anaya pressed, revelling in her middle school taunting.  
  
    “I regret dragging my ass over here,” Sam murmured darkly. A pause.   
“No, I mean... I didn’t. But I’m not jealous, it’s just… everything is about Bu-- Ja-- Barnes, and he nearly fucked me up a couple times. I dunno if he could lose it again. I don’t trust him as much as Steve wants me to.” Sam’s mouth twisted wryly. “ _And_ he’s so damn smug sometimes.”

    “Okay, but you’re _always_ smug. So.” Anaya shrugged. “And from what you told me, he nearly killed _every_ one. Including Cap.”  
  
    “Yeah, but he--”  
  
    “Get off me, you’re sweaty.” She waited for Sam to shift slightly before continuing. “Okay. Dude. You’re talking in circles. It bothers you that Captain Ameri-daaaaaamn--  wait wait, I can do better. _Fap_ tain America--”  
  
    “Aw _fuck_ , you’re really the worst today.”  
  
    “--is paying more attention to his best friend? That he hasn’t seen in a few decades? That he thought was dead? Maturity, thy name _isn't_  Wilson.”  
  
   “What? No. I’m… you… you’re right." Sam sighed a little and gently nudged Anaya with his elbow. "You sure know how to make a guy feel like shit.”

    Anaya smiled, but it was tinged with sadness.

   “I know. Isn’t that why we broke up?”

She saw him to the door, her hair piled in a huge messy bun on her head, her lips slightly swollen and her eyes half-lidded from sleepiness.  
  
   “Look,” she said, cracking her jaw in a yawn as she stood on the balls of her feet to kiss him goodbye, “Cap trusts him, and he’s not 100% stupid, right? Give wosshisname a chance. If he kills you, you can tell me ‘I told you so’ from the grave.”

\---------------

    By the time Sam got home, the sun was sinking toward the horizon. He’d been out nearly all day. After visiting Anaya, he’d gone for a long walk, browsed aimlessly at Best Buy, occasionally politely declining a handful of requests for selfies with people who recognized him. He usually didn’t mind fans, but today he had too much to think about.

    Like how to break the ice with Barnes. _The hell do I have in common with the guy? Besides Steve._ Seemed like Barnes was there to stay, and unless Sam stopped hanging out with Steve altogether, he was gonna have to deal with him. _Too bad I hate baseball. And I have no idea what the hottest big band hits are nowadays._  
  
    Barnes was sprawled on the couch, staring at the television. His muscular arms (both human and metal) were folded behind his head, one hand idly scratching at his long brown hair as he watched a cooking show, totally absorbed. Sam was just swatting away the thought that  _neither_ super-soldier seemed to opt for shirts that actually fit when Barnes spoke up.   
  
    “So these guys can just steal ingredients from each other? Kinda unfair,” he called out, not looking up from the flickering screen.  
  
    Sam wasn’t a big enough asshole to completely ignore the guy, so he leaned against the door-frame and glanced at the TV.  
  
    “That’s the point of _Cutthroat Kitchen_ , man,” he commented. Barnes jerked slightly, apparently surprised that it wasn’t Steve. Sam was surprised that his super-soldier hearing hadn’t picked up that he had gotten home.  
  
    Bucky glanced up, successfully hiding his sudden apprehension behind his hair. He knew he had been inadvertently fucking it up since day 1, going hot and cold, flickering between the Winter Soldier, smooth-talking Bucky Barnes, and the jaded, worn-out wreck that he thought himself to be underneath it all. Understandably, Sam had already been cautious of him, and Bucky’s occasional wrong-footedness had just raised his hackles more. It wouldn’t have been so bad, if not for the fact that a) Sam Wilson was unreasonably attractive and b) Bucky found himself thinking about the man _far_ too often (although he put a lot of effort into hiding it behind a wall of sarcasm.)

    After the helicarriers went down, he’d spent a long, _long_ time piecing himself back together. Half-blurry scenes and flashes of memory came and went, but some images stuck:  Steve Rogers, bloody and beaten, refusing to fight anymore. Sam Wilson, his body arching gracefully as he soared into the air… shortly before Bucky violently wrenched him from the sky.  
  
   Since the latest incident (fuck, there were a LOT of incidents), he'd been trying to get a feel for Sam. How to make amends (a simple "Sorry, dude" wouldn't cut it.) How to talk to him. This man who Bucky wouldn’t have dared to ask out for a drink in his time, for a plethora of reasons. Who Steve had trusted with his life after one jog with him. Who had thrown himself back into battle without hesitation. Who both welcomed you with open arms and kept you (or at least Bucky) at arm's length.

   What he had done sat heavily at the front of his mind, which made him sullen and snipish at times. Sam returned in kind.

 _Can you move your seat up?_ _  
_ _No._ __  
  


That about summed it up.

   And now Sam was lowering himself gingerly onto the couch beside him. Bucky couldn’t help but tense up. Where was Steve when you needed him? He was their buffer. _Shopping for groceries, my ass._ He’d been gone for hours. Had he planned this, trying to make his two best friends get along by leaving them alone together?

   For the most part, Steve was half-amused, half-distressed at Sam and Bucky’s antagonistic relationship, but beyond a few half-hearted invitations to baseball games (Bucky: Yes; Sam: Hard pass), he’d left it alone. They were grown men; they would work it out themselves. Even though they bickered like children more often than not.

   “Steve out?” Sam asked, leaning back and propping his feet up on the coffee table. Bucky worked hard not to let his eyes travel up the length of Sam’s legs. He was impressed with the man’s ability to keep up with him and Steve, and often found himself gazing at the muscles on Sam’s back as he reached for something… or god help him, when Sam wore this one pair of jeans, it was all Bucky could do to not openly leer. Luckily, he’d had a lot of practice controlling his face.  
  
    “Groceries. Said he was gonna cook dinner. As thanks for this morning. For breakfast.”  
  
    “Ah. Ok.”  
  
    “Been gone a while. Must be gonna cook fancy.”  
  
    “Mm,” Sam grunted noncommittally.   
  
    “Breakfast wasn’t _that_ good.” Bucky regretted the joke as soon as he said it. Fuck-up #746764. Sam was watching him out of the corner of his eye during the uncomfortable pause.  
  
    “Fuck outta here, Barnes,” he finally said lightly, quirking one side of his mouth. “ _My_ pancakes? Amazing.”

\---

When Steve finally came back with _far_ too many groceries, Sam and Bucky were almost companionably trading jabs over who would fuck up which dish on the cooking show.

   “For the record, Bucky uses 5 cups of salt per dish,” Steve yelled over the rustling of paper bags in the kitchen.  
  
   “Jesus,” Bucky muttered, “can you let me live?”  
  
Sam, taken by surprise, let out a sudden bark of laughter.  
  
    “The hell did you learn ‘let me live’?!”   
  
    “I watch a lot of TV,” Bucky said defensively.  
  
    “Clearly,” Sam snorted. He stood and stretched, his t-shirt pulling up slightly above his navel. Bucky couldn’t help it-- his eyes greedily roamed the other man’s bared skin, taking in the details of the taut abs, the dusky trail of hair leading to _OH NO Sam was looking right at him oh shit_  
  
    Sam caught his eye, raised an eyebrow impressively high, and went into the kitchen to chat with Steve. Had Bucky seen a smirk playing about his lips?

\---

   Dinner was a meat-laden, buttery affair (Steve’d never had the means nor the ability to eat rich food back in his day, and didn’t have to worry about his figure now...and he cooked like it.) Conversation was mostly amicable, broken only by a surprisingly heated debate between Sam and Bucky over _Chopped_ versus _Cutthroat Kitchen._ Steve attempted to end the whole argument by informing them that a) they were both wrong because b) _Iron Chef_ was superior to both.  
For his trouble, he got a careless “Fuck off, Rogers” from both of them.

    Sam skipped dessert, on account of the sheer amount of whipped cream, chocolate and cake involved; unlike the other two, he had to actually watch what he ate to a certain extent (nor did he have their terrifyingly massive appetite). While Bucky made some coffee (his was far better than Steve's, though Sam would never,  _ever_  admit it), Steve tidied up the kitchen. It was all awfully domestic. Sam tried not to read too much into that. Soon enough, Steve ushered Bucky out the door, reminding him of Sam’s need for ‘alone time.’

   Bucky, upon hearing this, opened his mouth to make the obvious dirty innuendo-- and caught the deliberate smirk that Sam was aiming right at him. He snapped his mouth shut, flushed slightly, and muttered a thanks for Sam’s hospitality before making a beeline to Steve’s car. Steve, unbothered by the odd behaviour, clapped Sam on the shoulder.

   “Good to see you again, Sam,” he said warmly. He left his hand there a bit longer than was strictly necessary and added, “Let me know when you’ve had enough... alone time.”

   Sam blinked. Did he just--? Was he--?

   Giving Sam’s shoulder a friendly squeeze, Steve strolled off to the car, joining Bucky. Who was pointedly _not_ looking in their direction.

\---

    The dishwasher swishing softly in the kitchen was the only sound in the apartment, but Sam was wide awake despite his exhaustion. Barnes had definitely stared at his abs (and Sam had enjoyed throwing him off-balance in retaliation. Who knew the Winter Soldier could _blush_?) And… Steve had maybe-kinda-sorta flirted? What the fuck?  
  
He rolled over just as his phone screen lit up, making him squint.  
  
_A. CHAHAL: you awake?_   _i'm bored. can't look at these formulas anymore._  
_  
_     Sam typed quickly, his haste and tiredness causing him to make a million typos that he couldn't bother to fix. _  
  
SAM W: Ye m awaek. shit gto real weird rl fast 2day_  
_A. CHAHAL: what happened??_  
_SAM W: im 100% sure Barnes cheked me out_  
_A. CHAHAL: SHUT THE FUCK UP._  
  
  
Sam wasn't going to sleep anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: Don't worry, Anaya won't eat too much into our trio's time [I know OCs can be off-putting to some {me, for example}]. I just wanted to establish that Sam DOES, in fact, have a life and friends [and relationships] outside of our sad super-dudes.
> 
> And yes, in Sam's mind, Bucky will be 'Barnes'... until he becomes Bucky. WINK WINK and all that.)


	3. no more getting it wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks and mild angst, AHOY!

Steve glanced sideways at Bucky, who was staring resolutely out the window. The _click-click-click_ of the turn signal was the only sound in the car, aside from the soft warbling from the radio (something about someone leaving someone for someone?)

   It had been several months since Bucky agreed to stay with Steve for a while, to collect himself and for them to plan their next move. Things had been fairly quiet on the Hydra front (almost suspiciously quiet in fact), but Steve occasionally got a message that made him scowl and disappear for 2 or 3 days. He never let Bucky come along (although they both knew he could follow if he damn well pleased), nor did he tell Bucky what had happened when he returned. After the first few times, Bucky had stopped asking. It was best that he stay as far from Hydra as possible. He was so damn _tired_ , anyway.  
  
    Still, the unanswered question of...well... _them_ , hung awkwardly in the air. Underneath their buddy-buddy joviality had always been an undercurrent of something else, and although they could ignore it while fighting to save themselves, their friends, and the whole damn world, it was impossible to escape whenever there was a natural pause in their conversation. The atmosphere always eventually started to feel like

_that breath you take when you’re about to lean in and kiss someone for the first time_

and it was slowly driving Steve crazy. At least when they were younger, he’d written it off as a hopeless crush on someone he considered to be so much _cooler_ than he was. Sometimes, Steve had almost convinced himself that Bucky was hanging out with him out of pity. Bucky himself always denied it, and eventually Steve accepted that the tall, handsome lady-killer genuinely liked hanging out with his short, sickly, lady-repeller friend.

  
  
   The light was still red, and the radio was now playing a song where ass-shaking seemed to be of extreme importance, based on how many times it was repeated. Steve hadn’t quite gotten used to how blatant pop music had gotten. He wasn’t a total prude (despite what Tony Stark may say), but it _did_ take some getting used to.  
  
   Steve suddenly smiled and ruefully rubbed his lower lip. He was remembering one of the (many) fistfights that he’d gotten into, with Buck backing him up as he always had. This particular one had broken out because he’d had the audacity to offer another man’s girlfriend his space at the bar (he hadn't meant anything by it, of course; he'd merely seen her struggling to get the bartender's attention.)

 

_What had started out as a polite gesture turned into an ugly brawl, with the girl pulling ineffectively at her boyfriend as he pushed Steve roughly in the chest (which triggered a coughing fit in the smaller man.)_

_“He was bein’ polite, he was bein’ a gentleman! More’n I can say for you!” she spat furiously. The man had grabbed her roughly and raised his hand…_

_Bucky, who had stepped out for a quick smoke, came in just in time to see Steve launch himself directly at the man. It was a whirlwind of fists, elbows and colourful swears, with Steve standing protectively in front of the young lady (receiving a split lip and a black eye for his trouble) and Bucky fending off the infuriated boyfriend._  
  
_After they had all been thrown out of the bar and the now-ex boyfriend skulked off elsewhere, the girl offered to buy Steve a soda as thanks (she also offered Bucky one, almost as an afterthought.) Steve had smiled his thanks but politely declined, and Bucky followed suit. After walking her home to make sure she was safe, Bucky turned to Steve._  
  
_“You know she was flirting with you, right?”_  
  
_“With me?”_

 _“Yeah. It’s 1 in the morning, who’s buyin' soda at this time?”_  
  
_“Me?” Steve repeated, raising his eyebrows. Unspoken but understood by both men was ‘But they always go after **you** , not **me**.'     
“Damn. I blew it, huh? Just can't seem to figure out when a girl’s interested…”_  
  
_“You can never tell when_ **any** one’s interested in you, Rogers.”

 _“What d'you--”_  
  
_“Nothin’. Let’s go,” Bucky muttered, his voice suddenly flat._

 

   Bucky was now watching Steve out of the corner of his eye, focusing on the tiny smile playing about his lips, his calloused thumb rubbing along the bottom one. Knowing Steve, he was remembering some stupid thing he and Bucky had done back in the day.

   “Light’s green,” Bucky blurted, startling the other man. They stared at each other for a long, uncomfortable  
  
_take a breath, lean in and_

    moment. Steve blinked and turned back to the road, making the turn that led to their dark street and darker apartment.  
  
   Bucky huffed out a small sigh, watching as Steve fumbled with the front door’s lock. Moments like the one in the car had happened so often lately that Bucky knew it was just a matter of time before one of them cracked. He’d come so close a long time ago, back when Steve was still a head shorter and 70 pounds lighter than him. But as usual, Steve had been totally clueless, and Bucky swiftly squashed any hopes he’d had.

 _You can never tell when **any** one’s interested in you, Rogers._  
  
   Steve finally unlocked the door (he’d been distracted by his phone) and the two friends entered the apartment. A pause while they both ascertained that no one was waiting to murder them (an understandable precaution), then Steve flicked on the lights and headed to the kitchen.  
  
   Bucky stood awkwardly for a moment before heaving yet another sigh and heading to the bathroom. Had that been moment to finally talk about it? Christ, he might be dead accurate with a sniper rifle, but he seemed to be missing every shot when it came to Steve. Bucky turned on the tap and watched the water pool in his mismatched hands for a moment. Tonight. It had to be tonight. He wasn’t sure why, but he could feel it. He splashed some cold water on his face and looked at himself in the mirror, willing his expression into one of casual nonchalance.  _Okay. Let's do this._  
  
   Steve was waiting in the living room, turning his phone over and over in his hands. Bucky took a breath to speak, but Steve got there first:  
  
   “Buck… can we talk?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: Mild cliffhanger because I am a Bad Person. No worries, we'll get to see the chat. :D)


	4. then it all just came out pt. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky took long enough. (Some Stucky feels. They ain't my main ship, but it's a happy-poly-trio, so it's necessary.)
> 
> Sam gets physical (not like that. for shame.)
> 
> will they? won't they? 
> 
> ...yes? (no.)

    Sam huffed out a breath and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids. It was almost midnight, and he _still_ hadn’t slept. After a mild freakout session via text with Anaya, he’d gotten reckless. Spurred on by her encouragement (it was her fault, he had to blame someone else dammit), he’d sent a text to Captain Steve Rogers.

 _SAM W.: kinda regret kicking u out_  
  
    It hadn’t been read yet, so at least Steve wasn’t ignoring him. Was he? Had Sam misread everything? Why did he _send_ that text? Why would Steve have flirted with him, anyway? Didn’t he and Barnes have that totally obvious will-they-won’t-they shit going on? _Shit shit fuck goddammit shouldn’t have sent that._ Had he ruined their friendship? Would Steve talk about it or politely ignore it?

    Sam suddenly sat up, a thought chilling him. _What if Steve tells Barnes?_ Would Barnes be weird about it? Would they laugh at him? What if…  
  
    When Sam finally fell into a fitful sleep, it was almost 5am. At 6am, his phone buzzed, unpleasantly jolting him awake. He groaned tiredly, considering ignoring the text until it was a decent hour.

 _Steve. I texted Steve._  
  
    Sam was grateful no one was there to see how quickly his hand shot out and fumbled to unlock the phone. The glowing screen burned his eyes in the dark room, but the message made it all worth it.

_ROGERS: Knew you would. Going for a run soon. Coming?_

    Sam breathed out a sigh of relief. As he considered the most easygoing, chill, not-at-all-excited way to say “YES,” another text appeared.

_ROGERS: Bucky’s coming too_

Well, _fuck_.

 

\---

 

   Steve downed the rest of his grapefruit juice (Bucky made a face; he despised the stuff despite Steve’s insistence that it was good for him) and checked his phone.  
  
    _SAM W.:_ _k. c u @ usual spot._  
  
   At least Sam hadn’t found an excuse not to come when he’d heard that Bucky would be there too. He knew that Bucky wasn’t currently Sam’s favourite person, but he didn’t know how to bridge the gap between the two yet.

   Bucky shrugged into his hoodie and moved past Steve to grab a water bottle. As he passed Steve, he paused to lightly tousle the blond man’s hair (like he used to when he towered over him), eliciting a pleased hum. Steve looked away from his phone and flashed a huge smile at Bucky.

   “You look like a real goof,” Bucky said, trying and failing not to smile as he checked his own phone (it was much simpler than Steve’s, as Bucky wasn’t a huge fan of smartphones with GPS and other sneaky apps.)

 

 _“It’s been a long time,” Steve had said last night, “since I wanted to talk about this…”_ _  
_

_“Talk about what?” Bucky asked in what he hoped was a casual voice, easing himself into an armchair. Steve sat nearby on the couch, still fidgeting with the phone in his hand._  
  
_“I don’t know if you remember,” Steve continued, a slight hesitation in his voice. “That night with that girl…? There was some bar fight and after-- she offered to buy me a soda, and--”_

 _“--and you had no idea what was really happening? As-fuckin'-usual? Yeah, I remember,” Bucky chuckled. His heart had just started beating a little bit harder, but he masked it behind a smile. As he always had._ _  
_

_Steve allowed himself a rueful grin before carrying on._ _  
__“Well, you said something. That I didn’t know when anyone was interested in me.”_ _  
_ _  
__“Yeah?”_ _  
__  
__“I… I said I didn’t know when_ ** _girls_** _were-- but you said_ ** _any_** _one.”_ _  
__  
__“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, unconsciously using his metal hand to grip the arm of his chair. Steve’s eyes flickered to the gleaming fingers for a split second before focusing directly on Bucky’s face._

 _“What did you mean, Buck?”_  
  
_“I… what did I mean by what?” He was gonna choke. Shit. The time had come and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to say--_  
  
_“Did you mean_ you, _Buck? That_ you _were…?” Steve’s hands had stilled on the phone, his cheeks turning the slightest pink. But his gaze was clear and steady. Bucky looked away first._  
  
_“Yeah,” he muttered. Here we go. It’s now or never. “I meant me, Steve. I--”_  
  
_“Oh, thank_ god _,” Steve had exhaled. “Do you know how long I’ve been turning that over in my head?”_

 _“Probably same amount of time as me,” Bucky said drily. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He relaxed into his chair, not realizing how tense his entire body had been until that moment._ _  
_

_“Probably because you were right, and I never know when someone is interested?” Steve shrugged._ _  
_

_Bucky snorted._  
_“Uh,” he started, hating how unsure he sounded, “does that mean you’re…?”_  
  
_“Interested?” Steve finished. He stood and took two steps, closing the distance between them. Bucky was surprised to be pulled out of his chair, and even more surprised to find his face inches from Steve’s._

_“The problem,” Steve said quietly, his lips barely touching the other mans’, “is I wasn’t quite tall enough to do this before.”_

_Bucky almost sagged into his arms as decades of tension left him._

_Sam’s text_ (kinda regret kickin u out) _flashed on Steve’s phone that had fallen to the floor as Bucky slipped his fingers into Steve’s hair, suddenly desperate to get closer, kiss harder, to bite and suck as much as he could because they had_ so much _time to make up for--_

 

Steve placed a fond kiss on the side of Bucky’s head.

   “Don’t be a sap, Rogers,” he said gruffly.

    Steve scoffed and headed out to the hallway to get his running shoes, calling behind him, “That’s not what you said last night.”

   “There wasn’t much talking.”  
  
   “Yeah, because we necked for a while and _you_ fell asleep.”  
  
   “Hey, jackass, _some_ of us are tired from all the running. And fighting. And espionage type shit.”  
  
   “You’re just getting old,” Steve grinned.  
  
   “We’re the same fucking age…” their voices, lighter and more relaxed than they had been before, faded as the door shut behind them.

 

\---

 

    Sam tried to surreptitiously clutch at a stitch in his side as he jogged, studiously ignoring the super-soldiers as they lapped him again and again. He was used to it; had even tried to jokingly trip Steve once by sticking his foot out. Steve had leapt nimbly over his foot, barely breaking his pace.  
   

   “Watch your form, Wilson!” he’d laughed, grinning smugly. _Smug asshole_ _._  
  
   Although he wasn’t super-powered, Sam Wilson was no slouch. He did chin-ups and sit-ups and push-ups and all sorts of -ups. He jogged almost every morning, never skipped leg day at the gym, and had an impressive array of protein powders at home. He had to keep in top shape if he was expected to hold his own alongside literal superheroes, space gods, and highly-trained assassin/spies. Still, it wounded his pride a _little_ when Steve flew by, not even breaking a sweat as Sam laboured hard, trying not to black out or throw up.

   And this morning, there was _Barnes_ as well. He, at least, had the good grace not to literally exude smugness as he passed Sam, opting instead to give a little nod of acknowledgement. Sam hadn’t forgotten Barnes’ eyes on him the night before-- nor had he forgotten about Steve’s friendly little chat. That’d had nothing to do with his choice to wear a sleeveless shirt to work out. Or wearing the sweatpants that had gotten a little too snug for his increasingly muscular legs and ass.

    It was hot. That’s all.

    Shut up.

 _Couple more laps,_ Sam silently urged himself, _then I can throw up and die._

    (He couldn’t have known that both of his running companions, independent of each other, had slowed their pace several times so that they could run behind him. The view was pretty spectacular.)

 

    After three more laps, Sam veered off the path and threw himself on the grass, sweating heavily in the hot sun. Bucky groaned inwardly.  
  
    _I just had the big talk with Steve, we did the horny teenager shit_ _, and Wilson is still driving me nuts_.  
  
   Sam was covered in a light sheen of sweat, his chest heaving with the effort of catching his breath and he was, of course, greedily sucking the water from his bottle in a way that made Bucky a little dizzy. Whereas Bucky was trying to convince himself that it wasn’t as unbearably sexy as it seemed, Sam was merely staving off death from dehydration.

   Bucky wasn’t sure what, if anything, to tell Steve about his thing for Sam. He was just... _looking_ at Sam, right? And looking was harmless. And he and Steve hadn’t made any _commitment_ or anything, just expressed their attraction to each other. And kissed. And slept in the same bed. And were nauseatingly cute this morning.

    Desperate to cool off, Sam suddenly peeled his shirt off. Bucky tried and utterly, completely failed to keep his eyes off the man.  
  
_Fuck_. He picked up the pace. He suddenly had An Issue to walk off.

    Steve slowed to a walk when he got to Sam and gestured for him to make room.  
  
   “Can’t move,” Sam panted, closing his eyes against the searing bright sun.  
  
    Steve nudged him over (Sam groaned dramatically), sat down and leaned back, lazily watching Bucky jog away from them. A single bead of sweat ran down the side of Steve’s face.

   “You okay?” he asked Sam, only half-seriously. Sam was in great shape (was he _ever_ ), so he wasn’t overly concerned that his friend was about to literally keel over.  
  
   “Gonna die.”

   “Die? Already? We were just warming up...”  
  
   “You… can just … sprint...your… super...soldier...ass… to hell,” Sam wheezed, opening one eye to glare up at Steve.

   “Was doin’ more of a light jog than a sprint,” Bucky offered as he sped past again. _Damn super-hearing_ . Sam closed his eyes again and flipped Bucky off from his prone position.

   “You know he can’t see that, right?” Steve asked helpfully. In response, Sam adjusted the angle of his hands so that he was now flipping off Steve.

   “Nice, Sam. Thanks.”  
  
   Sam just groaned and dropped his arms. Maybe he actually _had_ overdone it, trying to prove himself against two super-powered humans.  They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes as Sam’s breathing returned to normal, his eyes still squeezed shut (he’d forgotten his sunglasses and the sun wasn’t fucking around today.)  
  
   Steve glanced down, pausing as something strange passed over his face. He seemed to struggle inwardly, opening and closing his mouth a few times. He settled for lightly tapping Sam on the chest to get his attention (which wasn’t technically necessary, as calling his name would suffice; but Steve found a lot of excuses to touch Sam.) Sam opened his eyes, raising his brows inquisitively.  
  
   Steve cleared his throat. “So.”  
  
   “So?” Sam echoed, struggling to sit up. There were a few blades of grass in his hair, and Steve found himself resisting the urge to pluck them out.

   “So...you hungry?”  
  
    Sam frowned slightly. _Is it just me or is he being weird again?_

   “I could eat,” he replied.  
  
   “Breakfast? My treat.” Steve fidgeted with a dandelion stem while Sam swiped at his sweaty face with his towel. Steve was always very proper and soldierly as Captain America, his arms held behind his back or folded in front of him, but in his downtime he was often fidgeting with or prodding at or sketching something.  
“There’s a place that has good flapjacks. What? What is it?”  
  
Steve’s last question was brought on by Sam’s burst of laughter.  
  
   “Who… who actually says flapjacks?”  
  
   “Pancakes, then.”  
  
   “Ohhh, man. Flapjacks. Always forget that you’re literally an old man, Rogers.”  
  
   Steve pulled a serious face and said mock-sternly, “And you should respect your elders, soldier.”  
  
   “Don’t use the fucking _Captain America_ _voice_ on me, man. You know that shit don’t work.” _Yes it does. Just not in the way he means it to._

   “I’ll come try the _flapjacks_. Sounds neat-o.”

   “Okay--”  
  
   “Just...just a real gas.”

   “Sam...”  
  
   “Absolutely _swell_ , buddy.”  
  
   “I take it back.”  
  
   “No, you’re paying for my goddamn flapjacks. But I gotta shower first.”

   Bucky trotted over to the two of them, having finally worked up a sweat (and successfully distracted himself from his Issue.)

   “Gonna take off,” he said, scratching idly at his messy bun (he’d thoroughly rejected the term ‘man-bun’; hair was hair was hair, as far as he was concerned).

   “Natasha texted,” he said in answer to Sam and Steve’s questioning looks. “We’re gonna do some stuff.”  
  
   “Stuff? What kind of _stuff_ ?” Steve asked, suspicion tingeing his voice. Sam couldn’t blame him; Romanoff and Barnes were experts at doing sketchy shit with innocence plastered all over their faces.  
  
   Bucky scoffed lightly. “The mind-your-business kinda stuff.”  
  
   “Buck…” Steve started warningly. Bucky frowned irritably.  
  
   “S’fine. Nothing bad.”

   Steve didn’t look convinced and opened his mouth to speak. Sam said rather loudly, looking intensely at a tree and speaking to no one in particular, “I think _his_ dumb ass has been cooped up with _your_ dumb ass for weeks now and the man wants a little space.”  
  
   Steve blinked.  
  
   “People usually like hanging out with more than just one person,” Sam told a passing lady and her chihuahua. She looked confusedly at Sam before hurrying away, her tiny dog in tow.

   “In fact, someone who worked in counselling  _might_ say that spending all your time with only one friend could be unhealthy.” This, he said to his water bottle, holding it at eye level and nodding sagely. Upon noticing both Steve and Bucky looking exasperatedly at him, he raised his eyebrows.  
“What? Did I say somethin'?”

   Steve gave him a withering look before turning back to Bucky.

   “Okay, Buck. I’ll see you later…?”  
  
   “Yeah.” Bucky caught Sam’s eye for a moment and gave him a brief nod. _Thanks._

   It was odd-- Steve was undoubtedly his best friend, but because of their history, he had a little trouble getting used to Bucky’s newer quirks and habits. Sam, on the other hand, had only ever known the current version of Bucky, so he didn’t hold him to the expectations of the past (even if he _did_ think Bucky was a sullen asshole a lot of the time.) Often, he picked up on cues that seemed to fly right over Steve’s head.

   “I’ll see you later,” Bucky repeated, giving the other two men a brief wave. As Sam and Steve walked in the other direction, Steve companionably slung an arm around Sam’s shoulders.

   “Careful, Cap. Pretty sure we’ll fuse together in this heat,” Sam joked. Steve ran a high body temperature just standing around; him after a run was even worse.

   Sam felt his pulse flutter somewhere in the vicinity of his throat when Steve dragged his eyes down Sam’s bare torso.

   “I can think of worse things in life,” Steve said musingly.

   Sam never quite knew what to say when Steve got all… flirty. At least he thought it was flirting. Steve teased all of his close friends, but he seemed occasionally prone to making little comments to Sam-- compliments that would make him all hot in the face, or unable to think up an appropriately snarky reply. Once, Sam had been pretty sure he’d seen Steve looking appreciatively at his ass (Sam never skipped his squats, and it showed.)

 _Okay, you know damn well it’s flirting, Wilson. The question is what’re you gonna_ **_do_ ** _about it?_

   So far, the answer had been: nothing, besides an embarrassing amount of jerking off at home. Under the self-assurance and bravado, some small part of Sam wouldn’t _let_ himself believe that Steve could be making passes at him. Steve hadn’t really said anything concrete, and the man was usually pretty direct… so Sam had lied to himself that it was wishful thinking on his part.

   He opened his mouth to speak, finally having thought of an appropriately offhand response, when Steve spoke again.  
  
   “Let’s go shower, then.” He said this with the slightest smirk and one eyebrow cocked _just so_. Sam’s sweatpants suddenly felt uncomfortably close, and it had nothing to do with the number of squats he’d done.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: Thanks for taking the time to make comments and leave kudos. It's crazy to me that people like my writing? Like? Wow. Wow! WOW! 
> 
> Also, this is a two-parter. Please follow the aisle lights to the next chapter.)
> 
> \----> )


	5. then it all just came out pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast happens.
> 
> Steve faceplants right before the finish line.
> 
> Sam's real pretty.

Sam’s shower pattered faintly in the background as Steve tried to distract himself by skimming the trending hashtags on Twitter. His mind, however, kept betraying him by wandering into trains of thought completely at odds with his squeaky-clean Captain America image (an image he found irksome to maintain, but he understood the necessity.)

   Of course he'd been flirting a little with Sam in the park. He found of late that he couldn’t stop himself from making comments like that when it was just the two of them…  
  
   Sam making breakfast: “Keep cooking like that, and I’ll never get outta your hair.”  
  
   Sam talking about a past relationship: “They didn't know what they were losing, Sam.”  
  
   Sam complaining mildly about Bucky: “Sometimes I think he’s a little jealous. _I'd_ be.”

   Sam, dressed in a suit for an important meeting: “If my speech doesn’t sway them, just flash ‘em a smile. They’ll be putty.” (That last one hasn’t been so subtle, and had earned him an muttered ‘Shut up, Steve.’)

   Sam had never really reacted with more than quickly-concealed mild surprise or embarrassment, and the occasional snarky comeback (he never put as much _oomph_ behind them as usual.) But Steve wasn’t an idiot; he had an inkling that Sam might have some type of attraction to him. The problem was that Steve’s usual honest, no-nonsense, no-bullshit, straight-talking, here’s-what-I-really-think personality took a hike when those _feelings_ stirred in his belly.

    Steve hadn’t been very forthcoming with his own attraction to Sam, knowing full well that a misread sign could nuke an otherwise excellent friendship. Putting aside Sam’s physical attractiveness (and that was a _lot_ to put aside, just to be clear,) he got Steve in a way no one else had lately. He wasn’t afraid of Steve, and although Sam respected him, he didn’t revere him like so many others did.

   He also had a knack for making Steve laugh at inappropriate times (once, a well-placed text from Sam during a briefing with Fury had earned them all a verbal lashing when Steve had been unable to turn his laugh into a cough in time.) Sam was always pointing out clothes that would suit him, and even pretended to find Steve’s 6-month old Facebook memes funny.

    Steve, in turn, never failed to grab snacks that he thought Sam would like (hit and miss), always insisted on paying for food (they’d fought about that one on several occasions), and he frequently found himself _glad_ that his life had been flung into the present. He would never have met Sam Wilson in the 1930s.

   He’d met him _now_ , though, and he was painfully aware he that was probably wasting time. As aware as he was of Sam’s little intake of breath anytime Steve touched his bare skin. As aware as he was of the way that dark red flushed Sam’s face when he was feeling shy (never in the public eye.) Steve knew many people would miss that Sam was actually blushing-- Sam’s dark skin meant that people made a _lot_ of stupid assumptions about him.

   Steve’s artistic eye never failed to catch it, though. He often tried to bring about that reaction when they were alone, enjoying how unexpectedly _sweet_ Sam seemed in those moments. Steve’s sketchbook (hidden so securely that not even Bucky knew about it) was full of sketches of Sam, eyes half-lidded, reading.

   Sam, laughing so hard that he spilled coffee on himself (this one had actually happened.)

   Sam, slumped elegantly on his couch.

   The play of light off one side of his face.

   Steve, drawing late into the night, trying to get his lips just right.

   Lovingly detailed sketches of his battle scars and burns from his beloved jetpack, on his chest, arms, and his beautiful back.

   And some...other drawings that Steve would never, _ever_ show anyone else.

   The two friends had had to change hastily for battle several times, and since they were both soldiers, they weren’t bashful about nudity. (In any event, when half the world's about to be vaporized, there’s no time for shyness.)

The image of Sam unclothed was seared into Steve’s mind, and a truly distressing number of his drawings reflected it. All this, and he couldn’t. Just. Say. The words.

How long before Sam found someone who _could_?

 

\---

 

    “...an extra side of bacon for me and-- Sam?”  
  
Sam, who had been busily mouthing “ _Order flapjacks_ ” at Steve, sat up slightly. “No bacon for me, thanks.”  
  
    “You sure?”

    “If I eat like you do I’ll have a heart attack before I’m 40.” He turned a charming smile upon the waitress, who couldn’t help but smile back. “That’s it for me, thanks.”  
  
As they were waiting for their food and chatting aimlessly, Steve’s mind was racing. He felt that the time to say something was _now_ , just like he’d known when to talk to Bucky.  
  
_Bucky._ _How could he be planning how to come clean to Sam when he’d just confessed to Buck?_  
  
    “--the whole time, and we didn’t even know. You believe that bullshit?” Sam was laughing hard as he finished telling a story from his university days. Steve chuckled gamely, but his stomach clenched unpleasantly. He felt a little sick, because he knew he had to say something. Didn’t he? Maybe he could keep it under wraps. Maybe it would disappear by itself. He could do it. Push it down. Make it go away.  
  
Sam reached up and used a finger to wipe away a tear (he’d been laughing really hard. Truthfully, it’d been more of a ‘you had to be there’ story, but Steve hadn’t been paying close enough attention to know that.) Sam’s eyes were sparkling mischievously as he took a long drink of orange juice. He’d never looked more at ease, more carelessly handsome. Steve desperately wanted to know what he was thinking about, and was about to ask, but what came out instead was:  
  
    “Sam, you ever had a boyfriend?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: i'm a LIAR, this is three parts. considered hanging on to the next part, but i'm not a complete jerkass
> 
> [lol yes i am but anyway]
> 
> PART THREE ---> )


	6. then it all came out, pt. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast comes to a screeching halt.
> 
> Sam and Steve are happy!
> 
> Then, not so much.

    “Sam, you ever had a boyfriend?”  
  
    Sam choked on his juice.  
  
_Really, Rogers? Really? You decide not to say anything and then immediately put your foot in it._ _Okay. It’s okay. Damage control. Just say you were making conversation._  
  
    Sam was coughing and reaching for a napkin. He dabbed at his shirt a little, buying time. _He has to ask out of the blue like that?_ Sam was embarrassed to have reacted so strongly, but it wasn’t exactly something he talked about often. There were certain people who didn’t take kindly to him as it was.  
  
   Sam noticed that Steve looked just short of mortified and his cheeks were going slightly pink, as they always did when he’d really fucked it up. _Lemme save the poor guy._

    He cleared his throat.

    “...yeah. I did. Once.” Sam felt his own face getting warm, but he didn’t really have any secrets from Steve. Well, besides that Sam wanted him so badly that he literally lost sleep over it some nights. No biggie.

    “Sam-- I’m sorry if I was out of line…”  
  
    “Nah, nah. It’s ok,” Sam said, smiling slightly. _Just trying not to read too much into the sudden interest._

    “If I can ask…”  
  
    “Riley.”  
  
    “Oh. _Oh_ _._ I’m sorry, Sam.”  
  
    Sam nodded, looking away briefly. Truthfully, he knew that it would’ve come up eventually. His mind shied away from remembering the first time he’d really talked in-depth about Riley, and how he’d broken down.

  
  
_Steve had merely put his arm around Sam’s shoulders and sat silently with him for a while. No shushing, no ‘It’ll be ok,’ and best of all, no insistence that seeing his friend and lover die violently was part of some greater plan. When Sam pulled himself together, Steve had talked quietly about friends he’d lost over the years, to war, to illness, and to time. He finally opened up about the most recent, and possibly most devastating death…_

_Sam hadn’t known Peggy much, but from what he’d heard, she’d been strong, determined and absolutely unstoppable. Sounded like someone he’d have liked immensely. Steve hadn’t tried to stifle his tears like Sam had._

 

    From the silence at the other end of the table, Sam knew that Steve was remembering as well. The heavy atmosphere was only broken when the waitress bustled over, setting Sam’s breakfast and Steve’s substantially larger meal in front of them.  
  
    Sam poked at his pancakes with his fork, unsure of what to say. Steve sighed and laughed quietly.

    “I sure know how to set a mood.”  
  
    Sam finally cracked a small smile. “You could wipe the smile off a toothpaste model.”

    He chewed thoughtfully for a short while.

    “Steve. Why’d you ask? About… dating?”  
  
    “Oh-- uh. I was just…” Steve hesitated for so long that Sam wondered if he’d really, _really_ misread something. The guy was from another, much less tolerant era. Maybe…

    “Is it a problem? If I’ve dated men?” Sam asked, his voice suddenly ice cold. Steve paused in his fidgeting with the salt-shaker.  
  
    “What? _No._ No, of course not.” Steve was frowning now. _I should fix this. It’s going all wrong._

    “Oh. Oh, good. Then, why? Just nosy?” Sam was smiling again, but it was more subdued. He was unsure what was happening, and it was making him edgy.

    “I guess you could say that. Look… Sam. We’ve been through a lot, and I just… you’re always there. For me. It means a lot. And I just… I…”

    “ _Shit_ , Rogers, are you about to ask for my hand in marriage?” Sam half-laughed, completely nonplussed by how flustered Steve was getting.  
  
    “...not… _marriage_ …” _So much for damage control and ignoring it. Guess we’re doing this **now** _.

    “Because if you are, you’ll have to ask my mama. And she didn’t want me bringing home any more white boys…”

    Steve looked horror-struck for a second before he saw the big grin on Sam’s face. He was joking. _Thank God. I was genuinely worried about impressing his mother._  
  
    “No, not marriage,” Steve repeated. “But… I was wondering if we-- you and me--” _Okay, I’m not making the best sales pitch here._  
  
    “...you and me…” Sam prompted, raising his eyebrows. _He_ ** _can’t_** _be asking what I think he is._

    “Yeah. You and me… could go get a soda-pop sometime?” Steve grinned despite his _very_ pink cheeks and Sam laughed, both at the situation and at the fact that Steve had _still_ managed to be a little shit while asking him out.  
  
    Wait. Steve had asked him out.  
  
    “Well, _gosh,_ Steve, I dunno… a single boy like me, out by himself after dark with a big ol’ strong man like _you_ ? What’ll people say?”  
  
    “Way to make it weird, Sam.”  
  
    “You started it. And… yeah, man. Sure.” _He wanted to punch the air. He wanted to eat a thousand pancakes. He felt like he could bench-press a bus._  “I mean, I’m more into barbecue and beer than soda-pops, but… let’s do it.”

    “Really?” Steve couldn’t hide the relief in his voice. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it slightly. Sam was quietly flattered that he flustered Steve that much. _Kinda nice. Kinda nice? He felt fucking amazing. Like he could outrun Steve and Barnes. He felt like--_  
  
“It’s just…” Steve’s huge smile slid off his face.  “Okay. Me 'n' Buck. We're, uh. We're... together. We just talked about it. Last night.” Steve wasn’t quite meeting Sam’s eyes.  
  
   Sam didn’t notice. He was fighting the sick swoop of jealousy in his stomach.  
  
   “So. That happened,” Steve continued, raising one eyebrow slightly at Sam’s silence. Sam took a small breath in and nodded.

   “That’s great, man. You and Barnes, huh?” He even managed a tight smile. _Then why the hell did you just..._  
  
   “Yeah, it’s-- good. Great. Been a long time coming, you know?” Steve looked at Sam intently, searching his face. A small frown creased his forehead. “But--”  
  
   _I still want you too._  
  
   Sam briefly glanced at him before looking away. Steve wished he hadn’t seen the disappointment in Sam’s eyes for a split second, but he was pretty good at reading people. (Had to be, when you were prone to getting into fights as often as he’d been. Had to know when people were done talking and ready to throw that first punch.)  
  
    _Shit. Fuck. Damn. **Shit.**_

    “Listen, I don’t know about that whole getting-a-drink shit, if you and Barnes…” Sam's voice was slightly cold again. _I’m not gonna be some shameful side-piece._  
  
    “Sam... I’m gonna talk to Bucky. ASAP.”

    Sam shrugged dismissively.

    “I will. There’s gotta be… ” Steve sounded almost pleading now. Sam’s look was only slightly less icy.  
  
    “Talk to Barnes. Whatever. I’ll let you know about that other shit then.” With that, he took out his phone and busied himself texting, effectively shutting Steve out. His upbeat mood had vanished, replaced with a kind of cold anger, creeping and prickly under his skin. _What, he wants_ **_both_** _of us? What the fuck is that?_  
  
_And why am I saying "maybe" instead of "no" to this? What way could this possibly work?_  
  
    Steve couldn’t taste his bacon. _I fucked up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: Steve says Sam's name a lot. IT BECAUSE HE LIKE HIM
> 
> will i ever end a chapter on a happy note?
> 
> happy-poly-trio can't happen effortlessly, y'all. that shit gotta be EARNED. and i'm not about that cheating shit. so Steve's gotta take his lumps.
> 
> but remember: HAPPY-poly-trio. it's endgame and it'll happen.)


	7. guess i'll hold it in next time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Bucky have a chat on the beach!
> 
> It doesn't... it doesn't go well, you guys.
> 
> (They'll get along soon enough. Boy, will they EVER.)

      Sam took a shortcut home, taking it easy on his aching muscles and enjoying the light breeze that had picked up. After Steve had paid for breakfast (which Sam had uncharacteristically not fought), Sam had bid him a rather terse farewell. He wasn’t in the best of moods, to say the least. Every time he remembered the conversation at breakfast, he was hit with a one-two punch of excitement and then a kind of sickly anger.  
  
_He wants me_ , he’d think, feeling the cliche butterflies in his stomach. _He wants me_ **_and_ ** _Barnes,_ he’d remember. _He chose Barnes first_ , some small, petty part of him nagged. Round and round his increasingly ugly thoughts went, until Sam’s mood was almost completely ruined. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to be with people. He settled for working himself into a nasty migraine.

He considered texting Anaya to complain about the latest development, but he decided against it for now. He’d bitched at her enough as it was, and he still couldn’t quite parse why he was feeling so uneasy. (Yes, he could.) He’d have to busy himself around the apartment in order to avoid confronting what was really bothering him. ~~_  
_ ~~   

 After nudging the front door closed behind him, he eased his sneakers off and sighed. His kitchen was spotless, since he’d not bothered to eat before going out to run. It was nice to have a clean place, but it robbed him of something to do to distract himself. _I’m jealous. This is bullshit. Oughta just bow out of this whole thing.  
  
_ He wasn't going to settle for second place. Not even for Steve Rogers and the whole endearing sad puppy thing he had going _._    
  
   He flicked on the TV, turning up the volume to drown out the cacophony of _I’m jealous_ in his head. After a few minutes of disinterested channel-surfing, he left it on the usual cooking channel and wandered into the bathroom.

  He made a face at himself in the mirror as he stripped. He’d take a hot shower and maybe go back to sleep so he could _stop being jealous. What are you, 5? He still asked you out. ~~Yeah, h~~ e_ ~~ _asked you out **second**. _ ~~

A series of sighs and slightly pained groans accompanied him into the shower, and he swore loudly as ice-cold water hit him in the face. So much for taking a nap; he was wide awake now. He quickly adjusted the shower to as hot as he could stand it, and reached for the shampoo.  
  
_I’m fucking jealous._  
  
“Idiot,” he said aloud, immediately regretting it as bitter shampoo-water entered his mouth. Sputtering and rinsing out his mouth successfully distracted him for a couple of minutes, but eventually his mind settled back on the mantra that it refused to let go.  
  
_I’m jealous._

He’d never really had a problem with Steve’s close friendship with Bucky. They’d grown up together in an era that Sam could barely imagine, been through combat and god knows how many battles together, had just found each other again.  
  
_But this is different._ Sam knew he was probably being petty, but he couldn’t help but dwell on the nasty little thoughts that usually lay deeply buried.

_Steve gets Bucky back. Tony gets Rhodes back. Riley gets blown out of the fucking sky._

He hated feeling sorry for himself, hated envying what others had. He especially hated how fucking _angry_ Riley’s death still made him. Sam wasn’t clueless; he knew that shitty things happened for no reason… but he still felt like it was unfair. It wasn’t fair that some days out of nowhere came the paralyzing pain of losing Riley all over again, the thought that Sam had lost _everything_ in a split second. It wasn’t true, he’d remind himself. He had friends. He had Anaya. His mother. Work. The Avengers.  
  
_It's still not Riley_ , Sam thought, angrily scrubbing his skin until it stung.

_Barnes and Rogers. And, oh yeah, me. Throw me in, I guess._

  
This wasn’t working. He was just making himself feel more and more shitty. Maybe he should leave the house. Go to the small beach nearby. Listen to Radiohead on his iPod. Throw some rocks into the sea. If he was going feel like a moody teenager, he might as well go the full mile.  
  


\---  
  


There was a small family at the beach, two mothers and their toddlers. Sam sat some distance away from them, still feeling gloomy but begrudgingly enjoying the cool, salty air.  
  
    “Hey, _Falcon!_ ” a female voice called. Sam whipped his head around to find the source. One of the mothers, a tiny, dark-skinned young woman with an enormous afro, was waving wildly at him.  
  
Her wife, a tall blonde, pulled at her arm, muttering, “Leave him alone, babe, oh my god…”  
  
    “Lemme just-- _Falcon! You my_ **_man_** _! Do the damn thing!_ ” The first woman continued waving until Sam, unable to repress a smile, waved back.  
  
    “I’m doin’ it, baby, I’m doin’ it,” he called back. The woman laughed loudly as the blonde gave a small, embarrassed wave and pulled her wife back over to their children, who had been attempting to shove as much sand down their swimsuits as possible.

 _Okay, this isn’t so bad._ His dark mood was loosening its iron grip on him a little. Sam pushed his sunglasses further up his nose, slipped off his shoes, and pushed his toes into the warm sand. _Okay. Not bad at all._  
  
    “Hey.” A low, familiar voice came from behind him. _No no no_ **_no_ ** ****  
****  
His mood plummeted as quickly as it had that morning at breakfast.  
  
   “Barnes,” he said stiffly. Bucky closed the distance between them in a few strides and stood, looking down at Sam.  
  
    “Can I sit?”  
  
Sam grunted and shrugged. Bucky took that as an affirmative answer, leaving a little distance between them as he sat. Sam’s jaw clenched.  _I can get through this. Just talk normal._  
  
    “Didn’t take you for a beach guy.” There. His voice wasn’t _too_ acidic. No more than usual. (Okay, maybe a little more than usual.)  
  
    “Come here pretty often. It's quiet,” Bucky replied, nodding towards the waves.  
  
_There goes my happy place._  
  
    “Mm.”  
  
    “Seen Steve? He’s not home yet.”  
  
_Of fucking course he brings Rogers up._ He breathed out, tamping down the urge to snap at Bucky. What had happened this morning wasn't his fault, after all. ( _I don’t care if it’s his fault_ , the illogical part of Sam’s mind sulked.)  
  
    “No. Dunno where he went after breakfast. After he asked me out.”

 _F U C K._ That last part had slipped out.  
  
    “After he what?” Bucky looked at Sam, mildly surprised.

 _What’s with the look? You think I’m not good enough for Rogers? Shut up, Sam. Shut up shut up_  
  
    “Yeah. On a date. And then he told me ‘bout y’all. So. Congrats.” His bitterness was no longer under wraps (had it ever been?) But Bucky had the oddest reaction. His face slowly relaxed until there was no expression at all. It was a little bit unnerving. It also made Sam feel more combative.  
  
    “He asked you. Out. On a date,” Bucky repeated flatly.  
  
    “Forget about it. It’s--  you got there first. Fair’s fair.” Despite the casual words, Sam’s voice had taken on a lower timbre. _Shut this shit down, Sam, you're losing it..._  
  
    “Well. I was his friend first,” Bucky said simply. The six words were enough to make Sam want to sock him in the jaw.  
  
    “Yeah, _yeah_ , we’ve all heard about Rogers and Barnes,” Sam muttered. Bucky leveled a look at him, picking up on his tone. Sam maintained eye contact, unafraid.  
  
    “Got a problem?” Bucky asked darkly.  
  
    “Me? Nah, man. Like I said, he asked you first. Not your fault.” Sam was breathing in and out steadily, calming himself. He was getting angry quickly, and he could tell that Barnes was getting pretty pissy too. This could be really bad.  
“Guess nothing’s ever your fault.”  
  
_Dammit, Sam._  
  
    “The fuck’s _that_ supposed to mean, Wilson?” Bucky’s metal fist curled into a tight ball and his eyes narrowed. Sam smiled nastily.  
  
    “The fuck you _think_ it means?” Sam glanced down at Bucky’s clenched fists. “You got a problem, Barnes?”  
  
    “Only if you're gonna make one.”  

    “Hi!” a tiny voice interrupted them, shattering the rising tension. One of the toddlers, a small boy with a wild head of brown curls, was standing right in front of them, proudly holding out a fistful of sand. Bucky blinked, staring at the tiny fist, so much smaller than his own.  
  
    “That for us, li’l man?” Sam asked beside him, his voice falsely cheerful. The child nodded excitedly, still carefully gripping the clump of damp sand. Sam held out his hand.

“Can I see? Wow, that’s a lot of sand. Got a good grip on you,” Sam said as the boy let the sand drop into Sam’s waiting hands. “Ah, here comes mama. You better not run up to strangers like that, okay?”

The blonde mother hurried over, looking worried.  
  
    “Mr. Falcon, sir, we’re _so_ sorry!” She scooped up the boy, who let out a small cry of disappointment.  
  
    “No ‘Mr.’ needed. And it’s no problem. You got a great kid there.” Sam was all charm, smiling indulgently at the boy. Bucky was still silent, his face deliberately smooth and non-threatening. The child stared, wide-eyed, at his shining hand. Bucky casually put it in his pocket.  
  
    “Thank you, Mr. Falcon. And-- and thank you for, uh, uhm, everything you guys do. Uh… ‘scuse us-- _no_ , honey, we gotta leave them alone, okay?” Her son had started to whine to be put down, and she hastily took her leave.

  
Sam and Bucky sat silently for a while. The mood had been broken, but they were both still irritable and tense below the surface. Sam stood, brushing sand off his pants. He looked down at Bucky and gestured to the metal hand hidden in his pocket; the hand which had just been clenched in a threatening fist.  
  
    “Better keep your shit in check, Barnes,” he said coldly. “And you better talk to your _boyfriend_.”

Bucky didn't say anything as Sam left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: ANGST! AAAANGST! *lightning flash, mad cackle*
> 
> Y'all. 100 kudos?! WOT
> 
> wow ok ok wow thank you :D 
> 
> I've gotten a LOT written, it just needs a lot of tweaking to not be completely terrihorribad... will post more chapters soon, as soon as they're fit for human consumption. Your feedback, both positive and critical helps a lot-- even the critical feedback helps me grow as a writer [once I finish sulking {hey, I'm only human} and actually absorb what's being said.])


	8. it's all going to change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets his ass emotionally handed to him. (He'll get better.)
> 
> Next up: Good stuff finally starts to happen!

    Steve was rifling through a thick stack of reports, but he wasn’t absorbing a word.

    He couldn’t believe how badly he’d fucked up with Sam and Bucky. One moment he’d seen that _glow_ come over Sam, the next-- it was like the sun had gone behind storm clouds. He knew that telling Sam about himself and Bucky had been necessary, but he’d hoped…  
  
_What? That Sam would happily go along with it?_  
  
    He wished he could just talk it over with Sam, but he knew when his friend really needed his space. He just hoped he could refrain from texting him from a few days. Give him some time to think. Give _himself_ some time to think.  
  
    Now that Steve had basically confessed to both Sam and Bucky, he knew there was no turning back.

 _Confess. Such a dramatic word for a simple action._ Yet, as Bucky (and Peggy... and Sam) liked to tell him, no one did drama quite like Steve Rogers.

    Steve had been ready to tell Bucky about his disastrous chat with Sam, but Bucky brought it up first. It got ugly quickly; Bucky was already in a towering mood, and Steve, tense from his earlier chat with Sam, had snapped at him.

    Bucky had wasted no time in laying into Steve.

  
  
_“The fuck d’you think you’re doing?” he’d said loudly as soon as he entered the room. Steve looked up warily, unsure about his friend’s angry tone._  
  
_“What?”_  
  
_“Sam. What did you. You asked him out?” Bucky walked over to Steve, but didn’t sit, instead gripping the back of the chair._  
  
_Steve bit his lower lip. Time to face the music._  
_“I did. I made a mess of things, Buck-- I just blurted it out without thinking--”_  
  
_“Rushin’ in without thinking is a shitty combat strategy and it_ **_sure as shit_ ** _is a bad relationship one,” Bucky snapped. Steve was colouring slightly, but more with anger than embarrassment._  
  
_“You think I don’t know that? If you saw the look on Sam’s face--”_  
_  
_   _“Yeah. He probably felt like yesterday’s leftovers. The fuck is wrong with you, Rogers?” Bucky seemed unusually angry, considering that he and Sam didn’t usually get along. (But if there was anyone that knew what it was like to feel pushed aside, it was him.)_

 _“I know.”  
__  
__“Knowin’ ain’t good enough._ ** _Fix it._** _”_ _  
__  
__“Why do you care so much?” Steve asked angrily, more to avoid further discussion of his missteps than anything else. “You two don’t even like each other.”_ _  
__  
__“That’s not tr-- look. I don’t care if you ask him out. We talked about this. Seeing other people. ‘S fine.”_ _  
__  
__Steve nodded, his face set seriously._ _  
__  
__“But you did it_ ** _wrong_** _. You gotta fix that.” Bucky angrily pushed the chair away from himself. (Why was he so worked up about Sam, anyway?)_ _  
__  
__“I know. I don’t know how to-- I don’t even know how I messed it up so badly in the first place.”_  
  
_“You can’t just do shit like that.”_ _  
__  
__“I_ ** _know_** _, Bucky, but I--”_ _  
__  
__“Things ain’t always gonna fall into place for you like that.”_  
  
_“I didn’t try to--”  
_  
_“Not on purpose. Doesn’t mean you didn’t. Cap says ‘Jump,’ people been sayin’ ‘Yes sir’ to you for_ ** _years_** _. Got used to people falling all over themselves to do what you want.”_  
  
_Steve had been speechless, stung by the harshness of the words. That couldn’t be true. Could it?_ _  
__  
_     _Bucky’s parting words had been “You got arrogant, Rogers. I don’t like it.”_

 

    Steve had sat alone with his papers and his thoughts until long after the sun had gone down and the room went dark.

    Trust Bucky to hit him where it hurt. _Does he have a point?_ Steve would never, ever -- but wasn’t Bucky right? Didn’t people go out of their way for him, the living legend? It made him uncomfortable, sure, but had some part of him gotten too used to it?  
  
    He felt sick. This was something he’d never wanted to do, to become. Burying his head in his hands for a few moments, he let out a shaky sigh.  Bucky was gone, Sam was probably still angry (and rightfully so.) Steve felt a headache coming on as he sorted through the mess in his mind.  
  
    He wanted to be with Bucky again. He was so familiar, he knew Steve so well, he was charming (when he wanted to be), he cared so much more than he let other people see… he was _Buck_ , the man who’d had his back as long as they’d been together. He felt like home in a world where Steve didn't quite fit in.  
  
    He desperately wanted to be with Sam. He was so full of life, intuitive to a fault, smart as hell, and loyal in a way that Steve sometimes felt he didn’t deserve. Sam had an easy confidence that belied his more gentle, sensitive side (if Sam knew that Steve thought of him as ‘gentle,’ he’d probably challenge him to an arm-wrestling match right then and there.) He was everything good and exciting about the new life Steve had been flung into.

Clearly, neither man was afraid to rip him a new one.

 

    He suddenly sat up and pulled his laptop to him. Opening Google’s search page, he bit his lip in concentration and he typed _'being with two people?'_  
  
_Oh. Oh_ **_wow_ ** _, that’s a lot of porn._ Most of the stills from the videos made Steve frown disapprovingly. Why did so many of the women look like they weren’t enjoying themselves much? (Others, the ones where everyone looked quite pleased, he mentally filed away for later.)

    But that hadn’t been what he’d been looking for this time. He idly tapped his finger on the table, thinking. He typed _'dating two people at once?'_ The results were decidedly different. Steve’s terrible coffee went ice cold as he read page after page… and his heart sank as he read articles, advice forums and websites dedicated to the topic. He’d really, _really_ fucked up.

 _If you want them both, you’re gonna have to_ **_earn_ ** _it._

 

But how?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: Poor Steve. He fucked up, didn't he? If you're wondering where I got the "Steve is unknowingly arrogant" thing from-- it's been used in the comics and I thought it was a great device. Yoink! 
> 
> We all do shitty things without meaning to. How we react to being called out is what determines who we are as people.
> 
> But not to fear, REDEMPTION is near! I hope you all enjoyed the suffering, because things start looking up in the next chapter!
> 
> tally-hooooo ----> )


	9. me and my love, we'll take it slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *waving small orange flags* WINTERFALCON IS A GO! I repeat, Sambucky is a GO! Not like... sexytimes JUST yet but it's just around the river bend, friends.

Bucky and Sam would run into each other 7 more times before they ended up in bed together.  
  
**1\. (3 weeks after The Beach Incident)**

    Sam had been waiting for Anaya in front of a nearby park. He’d just gotten his first text from Steve since their breakfast fiasco a few weeks before.

_ROGERS: Can we talk? In person? I need to apologize._

    Sam really wanted to see Steve, but… he couldn’t make it so easy for him. Not after the stunt he’d pulled.  
  
_SAM W.: not yet. need time.  
_  
    His throat felt oddly tight as he sent the message. He knew it was for the best, necessary for Steve to see that he needed to really work to get back into Sam’s good graces-- but it didn’t mean it was easy for Sam to turn him down. 

 _ROGERS: I understand. Whenever you’re ready. Need to make it up to you.  
_  
    Sam hoped he would; as angry as he had been with Steve, he really did miss spending time with him. When Sam looked up again, Bucky was walking down the path towards him. They spotted each other simultaneously and, it being too late for them to ignore each other, Bucky slowed when he reached Sam. He looked slightly wary.  
  
    “Barnes.”  
  
    “Wilson,” Bucky muttered, seeming subdued. He seemed to struggle to say something for a few moments before blurting, “Steve was fucking stupid to do that.”  
  
    “No argument here,” Sam said darkly. Inwardly, he relaxed a tiny bit. Barnes wasn’t here to start anything stupid, and Sam wasn’t about to start anything stupid for no reason.  
  
    “Yeah. Told him he fucked up.”  
  
    “Good.”  
  
    Bucky inclined his head slightly, acknowledging Sam’s comment. He made to keep walking when Sam stopped him.  
  
    “Barnes.”  
  
    “Yeah.”  
  
    Sam gestured to Bucky’s metal arm, much like he had at the beach a few weeks before. “You _ever_ raise that thing to me again, I’ll feed it to you. _Capiche_ ?” His voice was almost casual, but his face was deadly serious.  
  
    “I won’t.” Bucky’s voice was quiet. Sam nodded, and Bucky walked off.

Later, when Sam was out with Anaya, he got a text.  
  
_B.: u gonna feed me my arm with ketchup or mustard?_

    Bucky had some nerve, Sam had to admit. He almost admired it.  
  
_SAM W.: w/ hot sauce, u fuckin prick_  
  
    Anaya had to ask 2 times what was making Sam smirk at his phone.  
  


The next day, Sam got another text.

 _B.: id deserve it. was kind of a dick the other day. sorry._ _  
_ _  
_ _SAM W.: nt sayin u wernt but i wasnt gr8 eithr_ _  
_ _  
_ _B.: bury the hatchet?_ _  
_ _  
_ _SAM W.: long as its not in my skull_ _  
_ _  
_ _B.: your heads too hard for that to work_ _  
_ _  
_ _SAM W.: go fk an electric outlet my man_ _  
_ _  
_     Sam bit his lip to keep from laughing when he saw Bucky’s next message: a picture of a power socket, Bucky’s hand holding an unopened condom next to it.  
  
****

**2\. (1 month, 2 weeks, 6 days after The Beach Incident)**

    Sam plopped next to Bucky on the bus, mildly startling him.   
  
    “Hey,” he said shortly, leaning back in his seat. Bucky nodded a greeting.  
  
    “You into music, huh?” Sam gestured to Bucky’s new iPod; he was never out in public without it nowadays.  
  
    “Yeah. Finding a lot of new stuff.”  
  
    “Oh?”  
  
    “Yeah,” Bucky repeated. After an awkward pause, he continued, “You know Motown?”  
  
    Sam laughed, the first time he’d done so in front of Bucky for a long while. “The man asks me if I know… ohhh man,” he chuckled to himself.  
  
    “I really like it,” Bucky said, smiling slightly. Along with the pop hits from his own adolescence, he’d been listening to a lot of soul, old R&B, some hip-hop. He vigorously ignored the tiny part of him reminding him that the newer stuff was all the kind of stuff that _Sam_ liked to listen to.

    “Motown. Not bad, Barnes. This is my stop-- take it easy, music man.” Sam got up and made his way to the bus doors.  
  
    Impulsively, Bucky asked, “See you around?”

    Sam turned to look at him, and after a moment, flashed him the briefest of smiles.  
  
    “Yeah, Barnes. See you around.”

Bucky felt oddly light.  
  
  
  
**3\. (2 months, 1 week, 3 days after The Beach Incident)**

    Bucky matched Sam’s pace as he jogged, almost making him trip in surprise.  
  
    “You followin’ me, Barnes?” he panted, managing to raise an impressive eyebrow despite his exertion.

    Bucky shook his head, his loose ponytail bouncing as he ran alongside Sam. “If I was following you, you’d never know.”  
  
    “That’s fucking creepy, man.”  
  
    “Yep.”  
  
    They ran in silence for a little while. It wasn’t nearly as awkward as it should’ve been.  
  
    “How’re things with Steve?” Sam asked, more to make conversation than anything else. Bucky glanced at him with a strange expression.  
  
    “We’re okay. Not living together right now.”  
  
    Sam’s pace slowed as he registered what Bucky said.  
  
    “You guys …” Sam gestured with his hands, holding them apart. _You broke up?_  
  
    Bucky nodded slightly, his mouth turning down. “But-- it’s just for now. To figure things out. We both agreed.”  
  
    “Oh. I didn't know, man… that sucks.” Sam genuinely felt a little bad that Bucky and Steve hadn’t worked out for now; he might currently be still sorta-vaguely-slightly annoyed at one of them and always want to strangle the other, but they were good guys who made each other happy.  
  
    “It’s ok. We still talk. Meet for coffee. Lunch sometimes. He’s working some stuff out. We’ll be ok. Later on.”  
  
    “That’s good,” Sam puffed, slowing to a walk. Talking while running was a challenge for him (although not for the super-soldier beside him, of course.) Bucky stopped beside him, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand although he was barely sweating yet.  
  
    “And you?”  
  
    “And me what?” Sam asked.  
  
    “You talk to Steve or…?”  
  
    Part of Sam thought that it was none of Bucky’s goddamn business. The other part thought that it very much was; the three of them not communicating well had been the cause of the whole mess.  
  
    “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Keeping things pretty light right now. Texting sometimes.”  
  
    Bucky nodded, looking oddly relieved. Sam caught his eye and they stared at each other for a few moments. _And us?_  
  
    Bucky cleared his throat. “I gotta go.”  
  
    “All right, man.”  
  
    “See you wherever next I stalk you to.”  
  
    “Don’t joke about that shit, Barnes,” Sam grumbled, barely holding in a smile. Bucky’s laugh was his only answer as he jogged away.

 

**4\. (exactly 3 months after The Beach Incident)**

    Sam had been reading at his favourite cafe when a server brought over an avocado, bacon and ham sandwich and a small salad drizzled with raspberry vinaigrette. Sam looked up from his large cup of coffee (mixed with hot chocolate, of course) in confusion.  
  
    “I didn’t order this,” he said to the server, who smiled brightly.  
  
    “It’s from your friend!” she replied. Leaning in slightly, she added in hushed tones, “I think he might have a crush on you; he kept looking over at you and he asked me what you usually order.” Sam was a regular at the cafe, enjoying the eclectic music blend, the simple but delicious menu, and the fact that most of the waitstaff half-flirted with him almost every time he dropped by.   
  
    Sam looked over to where the server had indicated, seeing someone sitting at the coffee bar. Someone with broad shoulders and brown hair gathered into a messy topknot. Bucky had shaved the back of his head, fitting in flawlessly with the 20-something hipsters that made up most of the crowd in the cafe.  
  
_This city is too damn small. I keep running into this asshole._  
  
     After a moment's hesitation, Sam shrugged and tucked into his meal. He kind of liked that Bucky knew to keep his distance. Sam felt like he might even work his way up to not wanting to deck him on sight someday.  
  
    When Sam was ready to leave, he carried his plates up to the bar. Bucky had his earphones in, his head bent as he read a small book. Sam leaned against the counter and lightly tapped Bucky’s shoulder, causing him to look up and remove one of the earbuds.  
  
    “Next time, remember I like my salad dressing on the side,” Sam smirked. Bucky scoffed lightly but returned the small smile, turning to watch Sam when he left.  
  
_Next time._

  
**5\. (3 months, 1 week, 5 days after The Beach Incident)**  
  
    “First you take over my beach, now my cafe?”  
  
    Bucky looked up from his novel. Sam was standing beside his table, the look on his face somewhere between amused and exasperated. They were in the same cafe that they’d met last time.  
  
    “Free country,” Bucky shrugged, making sure to infuse as much smugness into the gesture as he possibly could.  
  
    “I hate that excuse. Move over.”  
  
    Surprised, Bucky moved his chair aside and watched as Sam pulled another over. The server approached, looking strangely excited to see them.

    Before either man could get a word out, she said “That’s _so sweet_ that you guys got together! Me and Janice were like, ohh my god when he-” she gestured to Bucky “-sent that sandwich over last time, it’s like a movie and _ohhhh_ my god what if they got together and then you _did!_ ”  
  
    Sam’s mouth was slightly open as she spoke. Bucky’s mouth quivered with the effort of not laughing.  
  
    “-so me and the girls are gonna get you some drinks on the house, okay? We hope you don't mind? It's just, like--this is, like... the most romantic thing we've ever seen.”  
  
    Sam blinked a few times, still at a loss for words. Bucky, on the other hand…

    “That’s awful nice of you,” he said, closing his book and flashing a convincingly shysmile. “I’ll have a dark beer and… honey, what about you?” He looked at Sam, his eyes sparkling deviously as he reached out and took Sam’s hand, their fingers interlocking easily.

    Sam’s eyes widened.  
  
    “I--what?” Sam was still absorbing what had happened, and his words seemed to fail him. Bucky turned back to the server, mentally noting that Sam hadn’t pulled his hand away in the slightest.  
  
    “Sorry, he’s still a little shy about us in public. He’ll have an iced coffee… with a little bit of hot chocolate mixed in, right, hon?”  
  
    “…”

_Did Bucky Barnes just fucking call me ‘honey’?_

  
    “Okay! I’ll be right back with your drinks! Thanks for letting us treat you guys!” The server practically bounced away, and the faint sounds of excited chatter came from behind the coffee bar.  
  
    Sam slowly turned to stare at Bucky.  
  
    “The truce is off. I’m gonna kill you.”  
  
    “I just got us free drinks!”  
  
    “Honey? _Honey?!_ ”  
  
    “Yeah, I know. Had to improvise. You seem more like a ‘babe’ type, to be honest.”  
  
    Sam finally remembered himself and pulled his hand away-- mostly because he needed to bury his face in both hands. Truly, now that the shock had worn off, he mostly felt like laughing… and strangely flattered. _No. Nope. Bury THAT thought right the fuck now._ Bucky’s hand had been warm, his fingers calloused and strong, and-- _I said SHUT UP, Sam._

    “I -- y’know what, Barnes? I’m getting the most expensive thing on the menu. You’re paying for that little stunt.” He had decided to laugh the whole hand-holding thing off, because the only other option was to acknowledge that it gave him butterflies in his stomach. _Butterflies! The Falcon doesn’t get butterflies._

    Bucky grinned at Sam. He wouldn’t forget how long Sam pretended to ignore their interlaced fingers.  
  
    “Of course I’ll pay, babe.”  
  
    “Quit it or that book is going _right up your ass_ ,” Sam said.

    “Love it when you talk dirty, babe.”

    Their server watched the two men talking, sniping at each other without any real malice and eventually dissolving into helpless laughter. _“Sooo cute,”_ she mouthed to her coworker, who nodded enthusiastically. Sam and Bucky got free cake with their drinks.

 

 **6\. (3 months, 3 weeks, 1 day after The Beach Incident)**  
  
    “Sam?”  
  
    “Barnes. Hey,” Sam nodded in greeting, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. It was a scorcher of a day and he had worn a white shirt and sand-coloured pants, trying to diffuse the heat. Bucky was in dark colours as usual -- but today, he wore a sleeveless shirt. Sam squinted as the sunlight bounced off Bucky’s metal arm.  
“It okay to have… to not cover your arm?” Sam asked, raising his eyebrows. Bucky shrugged.  
  
    “Plenty of people with high-tech prosthetics now. Lots of ‘em even Stark-made. More affordable now. At least for this crowd.” He indicated the young, affluent people surrounding them. Sam had chosen this neighbourhood because of the diverse mix of people living there (and, yes, because it had great coffee shops.)  
“The only thing people ask is where I got it and how much it cost,” Bucky continued, snorting slightly.  
  
    “What d’you tell them?” Sam asked, lowering his voice.  
  
    “Tell ‘em it’s custom. And costs more than they can pay.” Bucky’s voice was flat, his face going smooth. Sam had come to realise the signs of Bucky talking about something painful to him, and felt a sudden urge to touch the man’s shoulder comfortingly.  
  
    “Okay, well. Let’s go,” Sam said, changing the subject.  
  
    “Yeah. Thanks for this…”  
  
    “Well, if a man asks Sam Wilson for music help, I gotta answer the call,” Sam grinned. Bucky had texted him the night before to ask Sam to accompany him on a record-buying shopping trip. Sam had been surprised, but found himself amenable to the idea… and he’d had nothing planned. So here he was. Going shopping with Barnes. He wondered what their matchmaker server from the cafe would say to this.

    “Hey, Sam-- let’s take a selfie. Steve’s stuck in meetings all day and I wanna rub it in his face.”  
  
    “...the fuck did you just say? A _selfie_? You’re joking, right?” _Where does he keep picking up this shit?_  
  
    Bucky wasn’t joking.  
  
    Steve’s response was a picture of him making an exaggerated pouty expression.

 _ROGERS: Have fun without me, you jerks._ _  
_ _  
_ _B. @ ROGERS: we always do_ _  
_ _  
_ _SAM W. @ ROGERS: [middle finger emoji, wink emoji]_

\---

    “You didn’t have to get me this, y’idiot,” Sam said, slightly embarrassed. The sun was just going down as Bucky thrust the paper bag into Sam’s hands, ignoring his mild protests.  
  
    “Nah. ‘S thanks for coming out with me today. I know you like Marvin Gaye.”  
  
    Sam looked down at the bag, feeling the large flat outline of the record sleeve. Bucky had bought him a gift, and Sam felt oddly flustered.  
  
    “I mean… I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t have a record player.”  
  
    “... shit.”

\---

    _“Bucky says you don’t have a record player? I'm surprised,”_ Steve said. Sam, cradling his phone between his shoulder and his ear, was tinkering with Redwing, his little battle drone.  
  
    “Bucky gossips too much. Tell him I said that.”  
  
    Sam could hear Steve call out _“Bucky, Sam says to tell you that you gossip too much. I agree, by the way.”_  
  
    Bucky’s reply was too distant for Sam to hear, but Steve scoffed lightly.  
  
_“Well, he told both of us to go fuck ourselves. Class act.”_

    “He’s _your_ friend, Rogers.”  
  
    _“From what I’m seeing, he’s yours too, nowadays…”_ Steve sounded amused.  
  
    “I wouldn’t go that far. Bucky’s still an asshole.”  
  
    _“He’s ‘Bucky’ now, too? No more ‘Barnes’?”_  
  
    “Steve, get off my ass,” Sam laughed, carefully tucking Redwing back into its case. He stretched his legs, which had started going numb from sitting cross-legged for so long. “Hey,” he said more quietly, “how’s therapy going?”  
  
    Steve paused. He’d started seeing a therapist almost 2 months ago, finally admitting that trying to shoulder the burden alone wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He had so much else to worry about that when Sam had suggested participating in a new therapy programme, Steve had agreed. It had been off-putting at first; it was conducted entirely online, with the therapist sitting in front of a webcam. The patient was to remain anonymous, no cameras or real names (Steve was going by “G,” taken from his middle name, “Grant”.) Slowly, Steve had begun to talk things through, to unravel his part in the mess between Sam, Bucky and himself.  
  
    _“It’s … it’s pretty good, actually,”_ he said. _“I can actually see me getting to a place where…”_ _Where we can try again._  
  
    “That’s good. I’m proud of you, man.”  
  
    _“Well, there’s nothing to…”_  
  
    “Don’t downplay it. Can't be easy for Captain America to admit he needs help, y'know? You’re usually helping other people.”

    _“Ah… thanks, Sam.”_  
  
    Sam smiled, able to perfectly visualize Steve rubbing the back of his neck, as he so often did when he was feeling slightly awkward.

    “Maybe I’ll meet this therapist of yours soon,” Sam mused. There had been the option of joining Steve for group therapy, but they’d all agreed that he needed some time alone first. He needed to vent to someone that wasn’t directly involved.  
  
    _“Really?”_ Steve couldn’t keep the relief out of his voice.  
  
    “Yeah, man. Not like _tomorrow_ or anything, but…”  
  
    _“Of course-- whenever you’re ready, Sam.”_  
  
    “Cool. Now put Buck-- put Barnes on. He wanted to ask me somethin’, I think.”  
  
    _“Oh, yeah. Something about an album. He’s been sitting by the phone all day,”_ Steve said, a teasing edge to his voice.

    Bucky’s voice, much closer now, was clearly audible as it told Steve Rogers to go do several highly immoral and horrifying things to himself.  
  
    _“Buck, where’d I even get a badger to do that to? Pal, you were always a sicko, but you’re so much worse now… okay, Sam, he’s your problem now.”_  
  
    “Later, Steve.”  
  
    The next voice on the phone was Bucky’s.  
  
    _“Ok, so you know this Nicki Minaj person?”_

 

**7\. (3 months, 3 weeks, 5 days after The Beach Incident)**

    “Ahh-- hello, sir. Mr. Wilson is right through here…” The maître d' led Bucky through an elegant archway to the back of the small restaurant to where Sam was seated, scrolling away on his phone. He looked up and smiled easily upon spotting Bucky.  
  
    “You clean up nice, Barnes,” he said appreciatively. Bucky had shaved and neatly pulled his hair into a bun. He was in all black again, but this time it was a sleek, button-down shirt paired with close-fitting jeans.  
  
    Bucky shrugged a little, seeming oddly shy. Sam gestured that he should sit and he did so, easing into the chair. He couldn’t help but notice how handsome Sam looked in the candlelight. (And sunlight. And fluorescent lights. Any lighting, really.)  
  
    “Was kinda surprised you chose a place like this,” he said, half-smiling. Sam returned the smile, trying to ignore the slight fluttering in his stomach. _Dammit, not again._ _Shit, he looks really good_

    “Mostly an excuse to show off. I don’t _only_ eat in cafes, y’know,” Sam said. “And it’s thanks, for the vinyl.”  
  
    “The record you can’t even play. Shoulda gotten you a CD.”  
  
    “Nah, it was…” _Sweet. Adorable._ “...a...nice gesture,” Sam finished lamely. Bucky ducked his head slightly, smiling.  
  
    “Let’s order,” Sam said hastily, pushing a menu at Bucky. He knew what he was starting to feel, and he was _not having it, dammit.  
_

\---

    “That had a _lot_ of cheese,” Bucky said, reaching for his glass. Sam snorted.  
  
    “It’s their famous mac ‘n’ cheese, man. Of course it did.”  
  
    “Kinda pricey for mac ‘n’ cheese, but it’s good. Damn sight better’n the shit in the box.”  
  
    “Don’t worry about the price. It’s on me.”  
  
    “Huh… thanks.” Bucky’s small smile made Sam want to flip the table and run. Because it made him think things like _he’s kinda cute when he smiles._ Sam could blame the wine, but he’d only had the one glass so far. He still felt a little drunk, though. _Aw, shit._  
  
    Bucky quietly marveled at how easy it was to talk to Sam, even with their usual mocking jabs at each other. Long after dessert had come and gone, they stayed behind, swapping boastful war stories, discussing some of the more baffling modern things that Bucky had encountered, arguing about music…  
  
    “Sirs, I’m terribly sorry-- but we’ll need to close fairly soon,” their server said apologetically, slightly startling them both. Sam glanced at his phone; it was almost 1:30 in the morning, they were the only ones there, and the restaurant had stayed open an extra 30 minutes just to accommodate them.  
  
    Sam paid the bill, making sure to leave an enormous tip for the serving staff as Bucky apologized profusely behind him. Outside, on the sidewalk, they stood awkwardly in front of each other.  
  
_Wait, did I accidentally ask him on a date? Because this feels a lot like a date. And this is the part where we kiss._

   “Hey-- what’re you doing tomorrow?” Bucky asked, cutting through the sudden strange energy crackling between them. Sam was grateful for the interruption. He’d almost wanted to-- _no_ _no no._ _Get your shit together, Wilson_.  
  
   “I was gonna stay in. Supposed to be a pretty nasty storm tomorrow. Maybe play some games. Chill.”  
  
    Bucky nodded, not saying anything. _Is it just me or does he look a little disappointed?_  
  
    “You should come by, man.” _Sam, what are you doing, shut up_  
  
    “Sure. I mean. If that’s ok,” Bucky … there was no other way to say it-- Bucky _lit up_ , and Sam knew he was doomed.  
  
    “Yeah, Barnes. I can’t wait to school you on my Xbox.”

\---

    Sam nearly walked right past his apartment building; he’d been lost in thought. What had happened at the restaurant had rattled him a little. He’d known that he and Barnes were heading towards ‘almost friendly,’ but he hadn’t expected to feel _this_ way. Not about _Barnes._ He’d nearly seriously fought the man a few months ago, and had worked up to a begrudging tolerance of him at best.

_Is that really true?  
_

_Don’t you go out of your way to bug him? To talk to him?  
_

_To get a rise outta him?  
_

_Don’t you_ ** _like_** _messing with him?  
_

_Didn’t you want to fight him because you_ **_know_ ** _that and it scares you a little?_ _  
_  
   That couldn’t be right. It was the natural wariness of someone who’d tried to kill him several times. Wasn’t it?  
  
_You might as well pull his pigtails on the playground, Sam.  
_  
\---

    That night, Sam dreamt of Riley. Not the usual nightmare of his horrible death, but something almost as bad; their relationship together. It was a mishmash of half-memories, half-dreams- Riley’s deep laugh, his weird aversion to hot drinks, his love of flying. His fierce love for Sam. The way he stoically endured the taunts and always, _always_ defended Sam against the double-barrelled homophobic and racist comments they got from some of the more bigoted soldiers. Meeting and charming Sam’s mother. Sam leaving flowers at Riley’s parents’ graves, and how touched Riley had been. As Sam tossed fitfully in his sleep, the same chilling thought wove through his troubled dreams:  
  
_I’m never gonna see him again._

    When Sam woke up, he swiped angrily at his stinging eyes and checked the time. 10:09 AM. He heaved a huge sigh, wanting to go back to sleep but knowing that he’d be unable to. He had company today, after all.

 _Maybe I should cancel._  
  
    But Sam had been dealing with Riley’s loss long enough that he knew staying in bed would make him dwell on things, possibly sending him into a spiral. It had happened several times before, and although each time was a little easier to pull himself out of-- mostly because of the unwavering support of his ex-girlfriend and his mother -- but he didn’t want to experience it if he could avoid it.  
  
    Sam forced himself to get up and unenthusiastically went about tidying the apartment and distracting himself in the kitchen. He knew his melancholy mood wouldn’t last long if he had some company. He’d spend some quality time with some steak, beer, maybe some tunes… _and Barnes._ Hopefully inviting him wouldn’t turn out to be a mistake.  
  
    His eyes rested on a small metal tin, tucked neatly on the shelf under his coffee table. Booze would be good, yes…  and maybe something a little stronger to take the edge off.  
  
\---

    Bucky sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his mismatched hands. His phone lay on the bed beside him.  
  
    He had just told Steve, truthfully, simply, that he thought he was falling for Sam.

    Steve had been quiet for a long time.  
  
    _“I understand,”_ he said, his voice unreadable. He sighed softly and continued, _“If you feel that way, Buck, tell him.”_ _Don’t make the same mistake I did.  “He deserves to know. Honestly. Openly.”_

    Bucky was staying in a nearby budget hotel, perfectly content despite its basic amenities. He spent most of his time outdoors anyway, exploring the city and listening to his new music. Music had been one of the main things to keep him centred, grounded during his worse days. The iPod had become his little escape.  
  
    Bucky had always been a big music fan. Although he couldn’t afford a record player in his younger days, he’d had the radio going at almost all hours when he was home. He knew when the jazz hits would be played on certain stations, when the top pop hits were on, which DJs knew what they were doing, which to avoid…  
  
    On Sundays after church, he and Steve would crank up the radio (Bucky’s neighbours hated him something fierce.) Sometimes, Bucky would sing boisterously along, practicing dance moves as Steve cracked up and sketched his friend as quickly as he could (it was fantastic drawing practice.) Other times, he would read, his feet always propped up on his rickety yet spotless coffee table. Steve would sketch then, too-- Bucky, the apartment, the people passing by outside the window.  
  
    Those had been some of their favourite days, before work and school and war ate away at their lives; just chatting, teasing each other, humming along with Billie Holiday and Duke Ellington, eating the popcorn they’d pooled together their pocket money to buy…

    And now Bucky had found music had brought him and Sam closer together.

    Once he was living on his own, Bucky had found himself thinking about Sam a lot. His initial anger had quickly given way to him going over little details about Sam from their ugly encounter at the beach. How he hadn’t backed down from Bucky’s anger, despite both of them knowing that he could easily hurt or kill Sam. The sound of his voice, getting lower and rougher as he tried to hide his stung feelings. The way his eyes lit up when the little kid had come over.  
  
_Sam fuckin’ Wilson.  
_

    Despite the miniature trainwreck that had resulted from Steve's rashness, Bucky had known that Steve wanted to be with Sam. The man had always been pretty terrible at hiding a crush, and Bucky knew it would’ve been coming eventually. He also knew some part of him was childishly resentful not only at Sam for catching Steve’s interest-- but at Steve, for obviously catching Sam’s.

    From an objective standpoint, Sam and Steve made sense. They had a pretty deep friendship. Sam had gone back into battle for Steve. Steve had protected Sam with everything he had, just as he had for Bucky himself. Sam and Steve were _good_ together, relaxed and easy with each other in a way that made Bucky sometimes feel a little bit lonely.

    He wasn’t proud of the way he’d acted toward Sam on the beach, his jealousy causing him to childishly say _“_ _I was his friend first,”_ just to get under Sam’s skin. It had worked a little too well, the two of them almost going at each other’s throats. Bucky felt a small wave of shame whenever he thought of it. Neither of them had been at their best that day.  
  
    But still...  
  
    In spite of their initial antagonism towards each other, Sam drew Bucky. The man was fearless, taking on superhuman threats with his own human skill and strength. He was quick-witted, able to think or talk his way out of almost any pressing threat. He was dedicated to helping others-- random civilians, his community… even Bucky himself, who had done so much wrong.

    And… Bucky may have wanted to punch the smug off his face once upon a time, but even that hadn’t made Sam Wilson any less good-looking. _That_ train of thought kept him totally distracted on his walk to Sam’s apartment, until he suddenly found himself in the middle of a goddamn rainstorm.  
  
    He hadn’t even noticed the gathering stormclouds, nor the first drops of water darkening the sidewalk around him. Suddenly, raindrops were plastering down his hair and he had to dash under cover of some nearby trees. _Under a tree, with a metal arm, in a thunderstorm. Good job, Bucky._  
  
A loud metal _bang_ from across the street caused him to look up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: Our boys sure do love texting. It puts a little distance between them so they can be buds again!
> 
> Speaking of buds... next chapter has some drugs, y'all. Nothing bad happens! In fact, lots of GOOD happens.)


	10. she remembers my name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rain makes people wet.
> 
> Sam and Bucky partake of the DEVIL'S LETTUCE.
> 
> They also engage in things that would make wearing a purity ring impossible.
> 
> (DIX AHEAD Y'ALL. ALSO WEED. Ya done been warn't.)

   The lid of the dumpster slipped from Sam’s fingers, making a loud metallic _clang_ as he fumbled with the rain-slick garbage bag in his hands.  
  
_Damn. Forgot my umbrella. Stupid. Shouldn’ta smoked before I took out the trash.  
  
_    Sam was relaxed from head to toe, having planned the perfect evening in. He’d already had a few beers, connected his iPod to the bluetooth speakers, danced like an idiot while prepping the steak marinade, and had a nice long smoke.  
  
   He didn’t smoke often, but his state had recently legalized the medicinal and recreational usage of pot (he’d already had a little-used scrip for his PTSD)… and today was one of those few days he needed to _not think_ for a little while. Despite his bad dreams, despite the rain soaking through his sweatpants and hoodie, he felt _great_.  
  
   He finally hoisted the bag into the dumpster and turned to go back inside. Across the road was a man, watching him. Through his hazy feeling of good-will, Sam felt a stab of adrenaline. _Hydra?_ He was in no state to fight, although he could hold his own if his life was on the line…  
  
   He mentally shook himself. _Chill._   _It’s probably Barnes being weird as usual._ His thoughts were confirmed when the man raised a hand in greeting and jogged across the street, splashing through the shallow puddles that were already forming.  
  
   “Barnes,” Sam said easily. He pushed aside the thought that his spirits had lifted a little when Bucky’s hand had glinted familiarly in the dull daylight. “Bein' a creep again, man?” Sam grinned, blinking rainwater out of his eyes.  
  
   “You know how I do,” Bucky drawled. Sam grimaced as though pained.  
  
   “Rule #1 if you’re coming over: do _not_ talk like that. That was... No. You watch too much fuckin' TV.”  
  
   Bucky laughed, the low sound barely audible over a loud roll of thunder.  
  
   “Okay, come in. That thing’s probably a goddamn lightning rod,” he said, gesturing to Bucky’s metal arm. “Never hear the end of it from Rogers if you get zapped. I mean… would be _funny_ _as hell_ , but still. C’mon.”  
  
   Bucky nodded slightly and followed Sam into the lobby. He wasn’t sure when he and Sam started being on such friendly terms, but he liked it. Almost as much as he secretly liked being hassled by Sam.  
  
   The elevator ride up would have been a little awkward in the past, but Sam was unusually chatty today.  
  
   “Got some steaks soaking up some good stuff right now,” he said conversationally. “Gonna dust off the Xbox and get my ass handed to me by the AI.”  
  
   “Xbox?” He knew what Sam had been talking about, but he wanted to say something. He wanted to keep talking to Sam. To hear his voice. To make him smile, see the little gap between his teeth, hear his laugh...  _Quit being a sap, Barnes._  
  
   Sam grinned. “Yeah, man. You should play so I can kick your ass.”  
  
   The elevator dinged, indicating their arrival on the top floor of the building.  
  
   “So… steak, beer, games. Sound good?” Sam got out of the elevator and waited for Bucky to follow him. Sam suddenly paused by his front door, frowning.  
  
   “Ah... _shit_. Beer doesn’t really do anything for you super-types, right?”  
  
   Because of the serum that gave them their incredible physiques and superhuman strength, Steve and Bucky had metabolisms so fast that alcohol didn’t affect them (as several of Steve’s non-superpowered friends had found out the hard way after challenging him to drinking contests.)  
  
   Bucky shrugged. “Not really. But I still drink ‘em. Feels nice. Normal.”  
  
  
_Was that a slightly sympathetic look from Sam?  
  
  
_    Sam opened the door and and stepped into his apartment. Bucky noticed for the first time that Sam had been barefoot the entire time. He was just violently swatting away the thought of how weirdly cute that was when Sam beckoned him in.  
  
   Bucky made to step into the kitchen, but Sam stopped him mid-step by placing his hand in the middle of his chest. _Don’t think about how Sam looks shirtless. Well,_ ** _now_** _I am. Dammit._  
  
    “I _know_ you weren’t about to just waltz in here and get mud on my hardwood floors.” Sam grinned easily, but he didn’t move his hand. He took pride in his living spaces, always tidying up and wiping down surfaces; a leftover from both his upbringing and his military career. He wasn’t about to dirty his shining wood floors. The place may be a rental, but it was _his_  for now, dammit.  
  
    “I ...wasn’t gonna?” Bucky said, slowly looking down at Sam’s hand.  
  
  Sam was mentally screaming _Move your hand move your hand MOVE YOUR DAMN HAND_ as he continued, “Shoes off, Barnes. You weren’t raised in a barnes. I mean a _barn_.”  
  
  Bucky was slightly puzzled by Sam’s behaviour. He guessed it could have been beer (he spied a few empty bottles on the counter), but he’d seen Sam drink before and he’d never seemed quite like this. ‘Silly’ wasn’t a word that Bucky really applied to Sam Wilson.  
  
  Sam felt, rather than heard, the rumble of Bucky’s low laugh. Because his hand was  _still on the man’s chest. I must be higher than I thought_.  
  
    He finally moved his hand and slipped out of the kitchen. Bucky carefully eased off his shoes, stepped into the kitchen and stood around awkwardly, unsure of what to do. He sighed, rolling his shoulders to release some of the tension there. He wasn’t sure what to make of what had just happened, but he almost felt like Sam’s hand was still there, burning hot through the thin material of his t-shirt. Sam never really touched Bucky (unless you counted violently tackling him out of harm’s way a few times.)

 _Am I reading into this wrong?_  
  
  A weird smell coming from the living room caught Bucky’s attention. It was kind of familiar; he could almost place it--  
  
  A towel hit him square in the face. Sam had returned and was gesturing to the bathroom.  
  
    “Take a shower or dry off or whatever, since the rain got you.” Sam jerked his thumb towards the window, which showed the thunderstorm still going strong. “You’re not sitting on my furniture like that.”

  Bucky slung the towel around his shoulders and nodded. He moved to pass Sam to go to the bathroom, but when he came shoulder-to-shoulder with the man, he paused. A sudden, reckless desire came over him and he spoke before he could stop himself.

    “You got wet too. Might need a shower yourself,” he said in a low voice that sent a frisson of wild energy across Sam’s skin. Bucky didn't need to say _'You should join me'_  aloud.  
  
   You could’ve cut the sexual tension with a knife. Sam wanted to set it on fire and punt it out the window. His body, made hyper-sensitive by the pot, reacted to the slight rush of warm air that tickled his cheek when Bucky spoke. Barnes’ voice had the slightest growl to it… Sam looked him in the eye and raised an eyebrow. That was all his brain could manage at the moment.  
  
   Bucky smirked and continued on his way to the bathroom.

 _The_ **_fuck_** _?_ Sam blinked a few times and made his way over to the couch, realising along the way that... _This? Now? Really? **Really?**  _

   He’d have to sit with a cushion over his hard-on like a goddamn teenager. Because of _Barnes._

\---

SAM W: _yr boy aint got no dam behavior. idek lol_

   Sam was sprawled bonelessly on the couch, texting Steve. He'd changed into some dry clothing; loose sweatpants and an old band t-shirt. (Maybe the shirt was a little tight for lounging around the house. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone, he’d just happened to grab that shirt first. Really. Honestly.)

_ROGERS: What's an idek?_

_SAM W: y r u so OLD? idek = I Dnt Evn Kno_

_ROGERS: I know what it means Sam, I was joking. And technically, you’re older than me. I hope Bucky’s not bugging you?  
_

   Sam bemusedly thought _No, he’s not bugging me._ _Unless you count giving me a hard-on on purpose as ‘bothering.’_ (Sam kind of considered it to be a bother.)

 _SAM W: 1- ur a lyin liar. 2- fuk u n ur old-ass self. 3- na, hes ok. idiot got caught in teh rain_  
  
_ROGERS: Sounds like him. You sure you’re okay?  
  
_    Sam hesitated, blowing a puff of air through his lips. Usually, he’d invite Steve over… both as a buffer for him and Bucky, and just because he kind of missed having the guy around. Sam had cooled off in the interim and, shit, he wasn’t angry at _anyone_ right now. But he still wasn't sure if he was ready to handle Bucky and Steve in his space at the same time just yet.  
  
    And... some small part of him wondered if maybe getting to know Barnes a little better would make the whole Steve-Sam-Bucky thing a little less murky.

_SAM W: na its fine. we’l eat n hang out_

_ROGERS: Okay. Be good. [Captain America voice]_

_SAM W: thanks MOM but if he strts up w/ that ‘chopped is a bad show’ mess he has it comin_

_ROGERS: Chopped IS a bad show. Let me know if you need backup._

_SAM W: ur opinion on tv is fuckin garbage n wrong. l8r._

_ROGERS: What the hell is L8R?_

_ROGERS: Nevermind, I said it out loud and I get it now._

  “You got a mop?” Bucky shouted through a crack in the bathroom door. Sam, who had just settled down on the couch after grabbing a beer, exhaled a long stream of strong-smelling smoke.  
  
  “You better not break my shower, Barnes. I’m pretty goddamn sure they work the same way they did in the 1800s.”

  “I’m _not that fucking old_ \-- look, you got a mop or not?”  
  
  “If you flooded my bathroom, I’ma beat the shit outta you,” Sam said loudly. He retrieved the mop from the kitchen and carried it to the bathroom.  
“What’d you do to my b--” Sam stopped short as he nudged open the door. Bucky was completely naked, except for the towel he’d wrapped loosely around his hips. The _hand_ towel. Sam had accidentally given him the wrong kind of towel. 

 _I’m too high for this shit_.

   Bucky glanced up, unfazed, and held his hand out for the mop. A small puddle of water was beside the bathtub, but Sam was entirely focused on not looking anywhere below the navel. Based on Bucky’s self-satisfied expression, Sam was failing big-time.  
  
  “Sorry,” Bucky said easily, apparently unconcerned that the towel had slid slightly. “Your shower’s a little small.”

 _Yeah, maybe too small for your beefy ass, Barnes.  
  
_ Sam miserably followed the contours of Barnes’ muscles with his eyes, realizing at the last second that the towel just _barely_ covered the man’s dick. _I hate him.  
  
_   Bucky leaned forward, taking the mop from Sam’s unresisting hands. He’d never seen Sam so speechless before, and it was difficult not to preen because now he had confirmation: Sam at least found him attractive, even if he did look like he wanted to murder him at the moment.  
  
  “Put some damn pants on,” Sam snapped suddenly. “This ain’t the barracks. Fuckin’ _indecent_ , prancing buck-naked around _my_ house…” He wasn’t totally able to keep the amusement out of his voice, and Bucky grinned as he turned away to mop up the water.  
  
   Bucky only took a moment to chide himself for being so blatant, but he shrugged it off. Sam had gotten under his skin in a way Bucky was starting to realise could only mean one thing. He had a thing for Sam Wilson. Something weird and full of a raw, crackling energy that would sometimes flare up with such intensity that he felt like his skin was too tight for his body.  
  
_Fuck. Goddammit. How the fuck do you fall for Wilson of all people, Barnes?_

\---

  Bucky moved quietly for a 200-plus-pound man. Sam nearly jumped out of his skin when Bucky appeared behind him, loudly declaring that the mess in the bathroom was taken care of. Bucky didn’t even try to hide how pleased with himself he was that he startled Sam.  
  
  Sam shot him a half-assed glare before turning back to the TV. Bucky sat beside him and they quietly watched the TV for a few minutes before Sam turned and spoke.

   “So. How’s… you 'n Steve? You two ok?” Sam hadn’t pressed the subject about their breakup, but he felt a little concerned for his friends. _Shit. Barnes is my ‘friend’ now? Shit. Shit_.  
  
   “Uh. Yeah. Talking, but still…” Bucky held his hands apart to indicate their separation. “Says he’s working on himself. I think we'll be ok."  
  
   “Very  _Oprah_ of him,” Sam said amusedly, taking a sip of his beer. “Yeah, we’ve been talking too. I think we’re getting to ‘okay.’”  
  
   “That’s good,” Bucky said. “I hate it when you fight,” he added, simpering. Sam made a face at the saccharine tone.  
  
   Bucky sat up slightly, suddenly placing the odd smell from before.  
  
   “I didn’t know you…” he jerked his chin towards to the joint Sam had just put out. Sam shrugged languidly, every movement seeming sinuous and elegant to Bucky’s eyes. (Sam didn’t have a single iota of tension left in him by this point.)  
  
   “Gonna narc, gramps?” Sam drawled, smirking crookedly. He was still in his oddly good mood (although smelling the smoke suddenly made a lot of pieces fall into place.)  
  
   “Don’t bother me none,” Bucky said truthfully. He’d been around the stuff a couple times in the past (he’d occasionally crossed paths with ‘the wrong sort’) but hadn’t tried it. It was seriously bad news back then, but he’d found that most people’s attitudes had totally changed. Just one of the many things that had flipped on its head in the modern era.   
  
But weed was the last thing on his mind right now.  
  
   “Sam?”  
  
   “Hah?”  
  
   “ _We_ okay?”  
  
   Two words with a lot of weight behind them. **_Are_** _we ok?_ They’d buried the hatchet in their own brusque way. He didn’t have bitter feelings about the Breakfast Fiasco or the Beach Incident anymore; one of the few things Steve had done _right_ was to maintain a respectful distance outside of their texts and phonecalls, and he kept all chatter strictly friendly.

   But Sam and Bucky had been interacting a little more. Apart from their occasional in-person meetings, they’d had found another, unexpected, way of becoming friends.

   Bucky had finally upgraded to a smartphone and had almost immediately discovered Snapchat.

   Sam updated his account regularly with selfies, faux-artistic pictures of birds, and videos of him making his favourite dishes while making jokes and doing pretty bad celebrity impersonations. He had a fairly strong following (although an annoying number were young women asking for Steve Rogers’ number). Bucky had recently started making his own Snap stories.

   Bucky’s first picture was of Steve frowning thoughtfully at a restaurant menu, captioned _“tryin 2 scam senior citizen discount.”_

   The next day, Bucky sent a short video. Steve, measuring coffee grounds with his tongue poking out in concentration.

   “Fuckin’ learn how to make coffee, Rogers,” Bucky said off-screen. Steve looked up, startled, and laughed self-consciously at the camera. _"_ _not evn hot cocoa can save this shit_ ” was the caption this time. Sam sent a picture of him looking unimpressed.

   Two days later, Bucky sent a snap of a pigeon. He’d crudely drawn tiny red goggles on its head. _“is this you?_ ”

_SAM W.: u need sum drawin lessons from rogers._

   Sam and Bucky were soon sending each other ridiculous pictures and videos almost daily (Steve joined in soon after; his pictures tended to be much more about aesthetics than being a jackass, unlike the other two.)

Sam @ Bucky: A toaster with shaggy brown hair drawn on, sent to Bucky. _"this is u"  
_

Bucky & Steve @ Sam: A cup of coffee with a chocolate bar sticking out of it. In the background, Steve made an exaggerated face of disgust. _shitty coffee made wilson-style  
_  
Steve @ Sam: A picture of him putting a ball of foil into the microwave.  _'This is fine, right? Am old, please advise.'_

Sam @ Steve: A video slowly zooming in on a huge pat of butter, as cheesy patriotic music blared in the background. _cap’s all-american brekfast_

   It had been a very silly, very childish way for them to get closer without putting too much pressure on their recovering relationship.

   Now, Bucky wanted to know if he and Sam were 'okay.' Sam thought carefully for a moment. _I feel okay. More than okay.  
_

   “Yeah. Guess we are,” Sam said, shrugging easily. Bucky looked relieved, but didn’t say anything. He felt oddly antsy. _I wanna tell him. But he’ll probably laugh in my face.  
_

   Sam leaned forward to grab the joint and his lighter, but he shot a look at Bucky.

   “Barnes. You not as goody-two-shoes as Steve. You ever…?” Sam left the question hanging, both an inquiry and an invitation. He was always a gracious host, after all. Even to Bucky.

   “Never tried it. But I’m _not_ as goody-goody as Rogers,” Bucky replied, casually giving Sam a glance full of meaning. Sam let out a slow breath. Forced himself to meet Bucky’s eyes. In the background, a woman on the TV whooped excitedly, having won a cooking competition.

   Bucky watched Sam’s dark eyes for a moment, noting with rising excitement that his pupils dilated as he focused on Bucky. Steve was good at inspiring people and plunging heedlessly into battle, but Bucky was good at _this_ , reading people -- observing their little tics and unconscious tells, knowing what someone was feeling. (He was also extraordinarily good at killing, but that was neither here nor there at the moment.)

   “It’s legal now… least hereabouts,” Sam said carefully. _Barnes. Bucky. He’s staring at my mouth_. The air felt thick. “Dunno if you’ll feel anything, ‘cause of your enhanced whatever. But if you want…”

   Without saying a word, Bucky held out his hand. Sam blinked and held out the joint.

   Bucky’s calloused fingers lightly brushed Sam’s as he took it, making Sam’s breath hitch slightly. He suddenly felt hot all over, but willed himself to ignore it. (Bucky noticed all of it.)

   “Like a cigarette,” Bucky said thoughtfully, flicking open a silver lighter Sam hadn’t even seen him take out of his pocket. _Get it together, Wilson. Shit.  
_

   “You a smoker?” Sam asked, watching the small flame spring from the lighter.  
  
   Bucky placed the joint between his lips and held the flame to it a moment before replying, “Nowadays, yeah. Sometimes. Stress. Y’know. Couldn’t before. Asthma attack woulda probably killed Steve.”

   Sam found it impossible to look away when Bucky lit up and took a huge drag, his cheeks hollowing. Tilted his head back. His dark hair fell back, framing his sharp jawline. After several long moments, he agonizingly slowly parted his lips. Let a thin plume of smoke curl up, eyes closed. Didn’t even cough once.

   Sam swallowed thickly. This was way ~~sexier~~ more intense than he’d thought. _I might be in trouble._ _  
_

   There were a few minutes of comfortable silence as they passed the joint back and forth, staring at the TV. A new show was on, showcasing exotic foods and beaming chefs. It was very colourful, with lots of exciting close-ups of food. They were both transfixed. _  
_

   “Hmmmmm,” Bucky hummed, lolling his head to look at Sam. “… well, ’s not _not_ having an effect.”

   Sam laughed a little. It sounded a bit too much like a giggle.

   “Wow. _Wow._ Yeah…” Bucky nodded slowly, his eyes slightly glassy.

 _Did I get the Winter Soldier stoned?_ Sam thought of the look on Steve’s face if he could see them both, and had to bite the insides of his cheeks to stop from dissolving into helpless laughter.

   Sam glanced over at Bucky, who had his head tilted back and his eyes closed again. Sam had a sudden urge to press his lips to Bucky’s neck. Which made him want to punch Bucky all over again.

   It was all very confusing.

   Bucky’s eyes suddenly opened. “Hey.”

   “What?”

   “I think I’m into you. It's weird.” _A+ with the romance, Buck. Way to go. Nailed it.  
_

   Unexpectedly, Sam didn’t double-take, say ‘ _What?!’_ or ignore it altogether. Instead, he lazily replied, “Yeah, man, I know.”

   Bucky stared. “What?”

   “You ain’t slick, Barnes.” Sam was looking at him, his expression hard to read. Amusement? Interest? "You think a man doesn't know when you're watchin' him?"

   Bucky held eye contact for a long while before muttering, “Oh. Uh... yeah. I’ve heard I’m not great at subtle. Uhm. Wanna talk about it?”

   Sam felt his heart skip a beat. He nodded mutely, taking a swig of his beer.

  “Okay. First - it didn’t come outta nowhere.” Bucky was less hesitant about broaching the subject than Steve had been. “Been thinkin’ about it for a while.”

   “A ‘while’? News to me,” Sam said, placing his beer on the coffee table. Bucky’s mouth twitched.  
  
   “We weren’t exactly _friends_ before. No real openings to say ‘Hey, Wilson, wanna make out?’”  
  
   Sam laughed pretty hard at that. “That woulda shut me up pretty quick. Or I’da told you to go fuck a rake.”  
  
   Bucky snorted in amusement. “How 'bout now?” For the first time, he sounded a little uncertain. It was pretty endearing, like when Steve had gone all pink and stammering trying to ask Sam out.  
  
   “Now…” Sam pondered for a moment, shifting so that he was facing Bucky. He looked at Bucky’s face, his intense blue eyes half-lidded, his angular jawline, his soft brown hair. Sam found himself allowing himself to blatantly check out Bucky’s thick, muscular arms, feeling his pulse pick up even more than it had already.  
  
“Now,” Sam repeated, his eyes now on Bucky’s slightly parted lips, “your chances ain’t half-bad, Barnes.” _Just don’t fuck it up_. _And don’t fuck_ **_me_ ** _up either._    
  
   “Wait-- wait. And Steve?” _I’m not doing this second-best shit again._

   Bucky’s face was serious. “Not about Steve right now. You and me.”

   Sam frowned in reply.

   “He knows how I feel. It's ok. It's between you and me. Just the two of us,” Bucky continued, nodding. 

   “You just quoted [Bill Withers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jEy6MGu3bIA),” Sam groaned.

   “Shit. Thought I made it up. But. Seriously. Just us now. Ok?” Bucky did something odd; he reached out and gently lay his hand on Sam’s shoulder. They’d never really touched each other outside of a battle situation (not counting Sam's chest-touching earlier.) Sam chewed his lower lip thoughtfully.

   “I'm not gonna pretend you're... a hideous sack of shit," Sam murmured (it was as close to _I THINK UR RLY HOT_ as he could get at the moment.) "And I'm not saying _no_ , I'm just saying ... don't just... walk out the door." Sam couldn't quite meet Bucky's eyes. _Don't fuck me and then throw me aside.  
_

    "Sam," Bucky's voice was so gentle, so unexpectedly soft, that Sam looked up. Bucky didn't talk for a moment, just looking at Sam. His velvety skin (seriously, what was the guy's skincare routine?), his large brown eyes-- and yeah, maybe they were a little red and shining from smoking, but god they were beautiful, dark like the edge of the horizon when the sun was going down and _jesus, imagine if Sam could hear you_ , the high cheekbones, his lips... the little gap in his front teeth that showed now as he bit at the corner of his lower lip, a nervous little tell caused by Bucky's intense scrutiny of his face.   
  
_Barnes is so weird._    
  
"Sam," Bucky repeated, "I never walked out the door. You always kicked me out." He grinned a little before continuing, more seriously now. "Not interested in a one-time thing. I wanna. I mean. You ‘n me. For as long as you can put up with me." It was Bucky’s turn to look away, unusually shy. Sam felt, and hastily squashed, the urge to teasingly coo _‘awww’_ at him.    
  
    He snorted. "We're past me putting up with your shit, obviously, or you'da been dead a _long_ time ago."  
  
    "Dunno 'bout that. I'm kinda hard to kill."  
  
    "I'd just force-feed you one of Steve's omelettes. Bam."  
  
    "...yeah, that'd do it."  
  
    Sam laughed, feeling much more at ease. "So... you wanna actually do this. See where it goes."

    "Yeah," Bucky said, his eyes searching Sam's face. Breathing out, he quietly added, "Just want _you_ , Sam. If you. Y'know. If you wanna.”

Sam took a steadying breath. _Do I feel the same?  
  
Who am I kidding?  
  
Yeah, stop being an idiot.  
  
I do.   
  
_    “Don’t fuck this up.” Sam’s voice was light, jokey, but his eyes told the real story. _Don’t fuck me over._ Their first meeting had been Bucky trying his damndest to kill him. Now, Sam was trusting him not to ~~break his heart~~ screw him over.

   Bucky nodded and then slowly sat up, a lazy smile on his lips and a challenge in his eyes. _Come and get me._  
  
Sam was never one to back down from a challenge.  

\---

   “Wait. You promised... steaks,” Bucky gasped during one of the rare moments when they paused in making out to actually breathe.

   “What the --make ‘em yadamnself.”

   “C’mon, I’m _starvin’_. I’ll help.” He stood and waited for Sam to follow suit (which he did with mild complaining and muttering.) In the kitchen, Sam fiddled with his mp3 player and bluetooth speakers for a while before giving up. Bucky watched amusedly, a freshly lit joint dangling from his lips.

   “Pick something,” Sam instructed Bucky, jerking a thumb towards his iPod. He busied himself in the fridge while Bucky scrolled carefully through thousands of songs. It was kind of nice to be entrusted with the task, to be near Sam, doing something so simple and domestic.

   Sam was tearing the film off a package of mushrooms, and he felt Bucky watching him.

   “I saw this one way on TV,” Bucky said conversationally. Sam wiped the mushrooms with a damp paper towel, tipped them onto the chopping board and stared at the man.

   “The fuck you sayin’?”

   “TV. I saw a way.”

   “Barnes. What?”

   “What?”

   “Seriously, what?”

   “Huh?”

   There was a moment of genuine confusion before they both laughed.

   “We are _fucked up,_ ” Sam snorted, carefully picking up his knife.

   “Okay. I saw a way… on TV… cooking show? A way to cut. Those. The muchrooms. Wait. Mushrooms. The mushrooms. So they cook better.” Bucky said each word with care (and even then he didn’t quite make it.)

   “Ohhh. Okay, come earn your keep, Bucky.” Sam was about to move aside when he realised Bucky had stepped right behind him. He felt the other man’s warmth behind him as Bucky leaned forward, wrapping his fingers around Sam’s hand.

   He had trouble focusing on the cutting board as Bucky’s lips barely brushed his ear.

   “Like it when you call me ‘Barnes.’”

_Fuck. Fuck shit goddamn this is weird_

_this is the_ **_weirdest  
_**

_god help me, it feels good_

   “Okay, _Barnes_ ,” Sam found himself saying, some of the confidence back in his voice. “Show me what you got.” _Phrasing, Sam, PHRASING._

   Bucky leaned forward and pressed his hips against Sam. It was wholly unnecessary to demonstrate the chopping technique, but too much blood had fled Sam’s brain for him to register that. Bucky’s hands were steady, swiftly executing a number of frankly impressive maneuvers. Sam was mostly distracted by--

 _Yep. Definitely his dick against my ass. This is like a bad porn. O_ _r a good porn._  

   Bucky was finished with the mushrooms, but he didn’t move. Sam was pressing back against him, and the curve of his ass (god bless those squats), combined with the friction was almost undoing Bucky. He had excellent willpower, but he was also high as _fuck_. Everything was over-stimulated.

   Sam suddenly turned, almost colliding face-first into him. Bucky made to move, but the other man placed his hands on Bucky’s forearms, stilling him.

  “What you doin'?” Sam asked quietly. His body language was still at ease, and his hands were lightly holding Bucky’s arms, not pushing him away.

  “Whatever you want,” Bucky said truthfully. He’d stop if Sam felt uncomfortable (although the way their hips were pressed against each other at the moment said that Sam felt _just fine._ )

  “Whatever  _I_ want,” Sam mused. His fingertips lightly brushed against the other man’s arms, causing Bucky to shiver slightly as the skin on his human arm reacted to the touch. _This is really,_ ** _really_** _intense.  
_

  “This is fuckin' weird, Barnes,” he said, a light laugh in his voice. “Okay. What I want. C’mere.”

   Bucky only had time to look mildly surprised before Sam pulled him into a kiss. He barely controlled the urge to grind against Sam, instead bending his head so that he could easier nip at Sam’s lower lip. Sam grunted softly and grabbed at Bucky’s hair, careful not to pull (he’d learn eventually that he was more than welcome to pull.)

   Marvin Gaye was playing softly in the background on Sam’s iPod. Sam’s skin was tingling all over. His head felt light, and it wasn’t only from all the smoking.  

   It was all weirdly romantic.

   Sam knew that this particular moment was probably going to be filed away under “Weird Shit That Definitely Didn’t Happen,” but all he could think of right then was that Bucky was a really,  _really_  good kisser.

   Bucky pulled back a little and lightly cradled Sam’s jaw, gently brushing his thumb across Sam’s lips. The gesture was oddly tender, and Sam felt strangely… weepy.

_Riley used to do that.  
_

  “You okay?” Bucky asked, seeing Sam’s face change.

  “Yeah,” Sam said, trying for a laugh (it came out as something broken-sounding, but Bucky didn’t point that out.) “Hey. Look, let’s… let’s eat, and play some games, and … take it easy.”

  Bucky looked a little concerned, but he nodded. He looked thoughtful for a moment before asking, “Too much?” It had built up so quickly, the two of them had smoked ( _and_ Sam had drank)... maybe Sam was regretting it.

  “Y’know… nah. It’s ok.” _More than okay._ Sam squeezed Bucky’s human arm reassuringly and impulsively leaned up to lightly kiss Bucky’s mouth.

  “It’s _adorable_ that you gotta stand on your tiptoes to do that,” Bucky said, unable to resist needling Sam.

   Sam scowled and lightly shoved him away. “Fuck off, you ain’t that much taller than me.” Bucky just grinned, straightening to his full height.  
“Go fuck yourself,  _Barnes._ And get started on those mushrooms.”

  “Only if you help.”

  “Big bad super-soldier can’t fry mushrooms by himself?”

  “Didn’t mean the mushrooms.”

  “... are you usually like this?”

  “Yep.”

  “I liked it better when I hated you.”

Bucky looked pointedly at Sam’s groin. “Dunno, seem to like it plenty _now_ .”

Sam scowled. _Maybe I should just punch him in the mouth. It’d be simpler._

_\---_

   “You gotta be cheating. This is some bullshit.” Sam watched in disbelief as Bucky effortlessly sailed through levels that Sam had struggled with for _hours._ After they’d eaten, they settled on the couch and Sam watched, horrified, as Bucky put his high score to shame.

   “Not cheating, just better at it ‘n you,” Bucky replied smugly. Sam considered punching him on the shoulder, but he was sitting on the left; Barnes’ metal arm would have the last laugh.

   Bucky suddenly paused the game and glanced over at Sam.

  “What? Bored already?” Sam asked, idly gnawing at a Snickers bar. Bucky had found it in his jeans pocket, and although Sam was usually not a huge fan of cheap chocolate, he felt peckish (three guesses why.)

  “Nah, just seein’ how you’re feeling.” Sam was quietly surprised by how gentle Bucky seemed to be with him, in between the relentless shit-talking that they did.

    “I’m good. Really.”

    “Yeah?” Bucky said softly, setting down the controller. Sam raised an eyebrow as he chewed. He knew that tone. _Every_ male knew that tone.

    “Can I help you, Barnes?”

    “Just wonderin’ if I can kiss you again,” Bucky said, somehow managing to make it not sound corny. Sam scoffed.

    “Hooked already?”

   Bucky smirked (Sam worried that it was starting to have a Pavlovian effect on him as he felt his stomach clench pleasantly) and beckoned Sam closer. Sam moved over, but Bucky had other ideas; he gripped Sam’s hips with both hands and effortlessly hoisted him onto his lap.

   Sam Wilson found himself awkwardly straddling Bucky Barnes, the half-eaten chocolate bar immediately forgotten.

   “The fuck you doin’, Bucky?” Sam laughed, feeling a little ridiculous.

   “ _Barnes_ ,” Bucky growled, sliding his hands down Sam’s back. “And I’m doin’ what _I_ want, now. If you’re…”

   His hands stopped at the base of Sam’s spine, patiently waiting. He wanted to make sure Sam was comfortable, aside from the man’s surprising shyness when it came to sex. He hadn’t imagined Sam to be the bashful type.

   Sam met Bucky’s eyes and nodded.

   It was his turn to be taken by surprise as Bucky firmly grasped his ass and pulled Sam hard against him. His mouth sought Sam’s and Sam was almost overwhelmed with the raw energy behind Bucky’s kisses; he had been holding back earlier, letting Sam set the pace. Sam felt himself grow swiftly, painfully hard and pulled away slightly, a little embarrassed. _Stop acting so thirsty, damn._

   “Mm-mm,” Bucky hummed disapprovingly, drawing Sam back towards him. Still holding him firmly (he was careful not to bruise Sam with his strength, but he wasn’t about to let him go anywhere unless Sam wanted to), he rolled his hips beneath him.  _He tastes like chocolate. He'd probably deck me if I told him that._

 Sam had always rolled his eyes at the phrase _"Person A saw stars when Person B did the thing"_ but... 

_oh._

   Sam’s breath hitched, hot desire slithering low in his belly. Bucky was carefully watching his face, his eyes half-lidded and a smile playing about his lips. Bucky was still checking in with him, silently waiting for the go-ahead.

   And he got it. Sam leaned forward at the same time as Bucky and they kissed, all lips and teeth and tongue. It was sloppy, more than a little awkward, desperate and primal.

It was unbearably sexy.

   Bucky’s hands kneaded Sam’s ass as he moved beneath him, murmuring things that Sam, in any other state, would’ve been pretty damn surprised to hear from the man.

_know how long I wanted_

 

_can’t wait to_

 

_so good_

 

_so sexy_

 

   That one almost stopped Sam in his tracks. He knew he was considered to be good-looking, and he didn’t necessarily argue-- but it was fairly unusual to _hear_ it said frankly like that.   Sam was charming and outgoing, so he wasn’t exactly hurting for dates, but he rarely felt _desired_ in this way.

   Everything was building almost too fast-- the friction, Bucky’s steady, languorous movement, the kisses down his neck, the almost worshipful way Bucky’s hands were roaming over his body.

 

_oh no._

 

  Beyond his blinding horniness, beyond his pleasant weed buzz, Sam felt something in him shift _. Oh no._ _  
_

   “Bucky,” he choked out. He was close, too close. _Dammit, I don’t wanna come in my pants like a horny teenager._ _  
_

   Bucky only looked up long enough to almost snarl “ _Barnes,_ ” before relentlessly continuing his grinding, increasing the pace until Sam suddenly exhaled heavily and lurched forward with a soft grunt, his hips jerking arrhythmically as his body gave up control. _Dammit. Dammit dammit shitfucking dammit. I like these sweatpants.  
_

   “ _Dammit,_ _Barnes_ ,” he groaned, already thinking of the messy aftermath. Bucky, however, was too distracted by Sam’s husky voice moaning his name to do anything but bite his lower lip hard as he came, his fingers digging almost painfully into Sam’s hips.

   The cheerful electronic music from the video game was still looping in the background, a jarring contrast to the heavy panting, lazy kisses, and the thick smell of sex and pot in the air.

    Sam looked down at Bucky, whose head was thrown back carelessly against the couch, his hair splayed wildly about his head. He still wanted to press his lips against Buck’s neck, feel its pulse fluttering against his. This time, he indulged.

   He felt Bucky’s cock stir.

    “Easy, Barnes. Not all of us are super-human,” he grumbled. Bucky smiled, not moving.

    “I like that. ‘Barnes.’”

    “I know, man. You got some kinda weird kink now?”

Bucky gestured lazily at Sam. “Dunno. You say it different.”

    “The fuck I do.”

    “You’re not scared of me.”

    “The fuck I am.”

   Sam was then quiet for a little while, catching his breath and coming down off his post-orgasmic high (not the drug-induced one just yet, though.) Bucky still didn’t open his eyes. Maybe it was easier for him to say what he wanted to say without seeing Sam’s face. He didn’t want to see pity.

    “Never was scared of me.”

Sam had, of course, been full of adrenaline and, yes, a little fear when facing the Winter Soldier, but that wasn’t what Bucky was referring to.

    “Treated me like an asshole. Like a person. Not like I was ‘bout to snap. Not like a machine.”

   Sam nodded slowly. He knew what was happening; the aftermath of what they had just done had unleashed something that was usually tightly controlled within the other man.

From Sam’s mouth, ‘Barnes’ was more intimate than any other name he could call Bucky.

    “Sam.”

    “Hm?”

    “What happened earlier?” Bucky asked quietly, referring to Sam pulling away from his touch in the kitchen.

    “Forget it.”

Bucky shook his head slightly.   
“C’mon.”   
  
Sam looked at Bucky’s face, his flushed cheeks, the strange softness in his eyes as he gazed back at Sam. He told him about Riley.

   As he spoke, his voice would sometimes break from the repressed emotion, and Bucky’s human hand would rub his back in small circles. Silently soothing him, the physical manifestation of gentleness that Bucky himself had been denied for so long. He knew how much a kind touch could mean.

   “Sam. I’m. I’m sorry. That’s ... fuckin' shitty,” Bucky said in a low voice. Sam, feeling unable to speak, just nodded. Bucky exhaled, bringing his hands up to rub Sam’s arms. Sam leaned forward until his forehead rested against Bucky’s, and they stayed like that for several long minutes. Just breathing each other in, as the rain pattered loudly against the window panes.

   “This is the weirdest guys’ night I’ve ever had,” Bucky said, breaking the quiet atmosphere. Sam, taken by surprise, burst out laughing.

   “Can't be the _weirdest_. You've seen some fucked up shit."  
  
   Bucky pretended to think. "Nope. This is definitely the weirdest." He grinned and suddenly dipped his head to nip at Sam's neck, making him shiver.  
  
   "All right, asshole,” Sam muttered, just barely managing not to sound out of breath. “Look, that was real fun, but my hips are killing me from sitting like this. And I’m gonna need a shower.”

   “I’m gonna come.”

   “Again?”

   “Maybe. Got at least a few left in me.”  
  
_“Je_ sus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: I’ve been editing and rewriting and editing and rewriting and EDITING this thing to death. It’s turning out to be a goddamn monster. I really appreciate your kudos and comments-- even the ones that are kinda kicking my ass. 
> 
> I need critique along with the love, even if it hurts my delicate baby feelings. I won’t pretend your opinions don’t matter because if I didn’t want people to read and hopefully enjoy this fic, I’d never have written and posted it. 
> 
> That being said… I have to remind y’all (AND myself tbh) that I can’t possibly make everyone happy (and it’s the first fic I’ve written since I was a young teen. I’m pushin’ 30 now. No, really.) 
> 
> Thanks for your time. 
> 
> LET’S READ ABOUT MORE DICKS NOW OK YES
> 
> Oh also also also also there'll be occasional links popping up in the fic now and then. Either music or pics. MANY INTERACTIVE)


	11. please, no more (playing with my heart) pt. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Bucky bury the hatchet! (And by hatchet, I mean... y'know.)
> 
> Winterfalcon is officially a go. *tear* they grow up so fast.

    The shower took much longer than necessary; in a bid to take revenge for ruining his pants, Sam had sunk slowly to his knees and done things with his tongue that had made Bucky swear breathily in Russian and clench his metal hand, leaving spidery cracks in Sam’s bathroom tile.  
  
    “God _fucking_ dammit, Barnes!”  
  
    “S-sorry,” Bucky said, still unsteady. He looked regretful for having damaged Sam’s shower tile, but mostly he looked extremely satisfied and slightly sleepy.  
  
    “Can’t have nice things. 8-foot 500 pound superhumans bustin’ up the place…”  
  
    “I’ll replace it.”  
  
    “ _Yeah_ you fuckin’ will. Fuck.”  
  
    “Sorry. Was just … I’ve never. Where’d you learn that? That was… jesus.”  
  
    “You leave Jesus outta this. And never mind where I learned it.” _Porn. Riley. Couple casual hookups. Natural talent._ Not all of his skills were listed in his Avengers file.  
  
    There was now the issue of getting out of the bath without cutting their feet on the small shards of tile littering the bathtub. Bucky managed it easily.  
  
    “I can carry you,” Bucky offered, all feigned innocence.  
  
    “No. Hell no.”  
  
    “’s no problem. Sweep you off your feet. Bridal style.”  
  
    “You try that and you’re gettin’ a swift kick in the little winter soldier there.”  
  
    “Not so little.”  
  
    “Barnes, _I swear to God…_ ”  
  
  
\---

    Finally, Sam ended up in his bed, finishing a beer and listening to music as Bucky scrolled fascinatedly through his iPod.  
  
    “Really like this Babyface guy,” Bucky said, yawning widely. Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise.  
  
    “You’re so fucking weird.”  
  
    “No shit.”  
  
     A pause. “Barnes.”  
  
    “Mm?”  
  
    “… the fuck you doin’ in my bed, man?”  
  
    “Want me to go?”  
  
    “I don’t give a fuck.” Sam sounded nonchalant, but Bucky could see the small smile on his face. Sam slid down so that he was lying next to Bucky, reaching over for the iPod and propping himself up on one elbow. Bucky turned his head to look at Sam, who was wryly thinking how much the two of them together looked like a (very progressive) commercial for Apple.  
“‘Kay, so if you like R&B there’s some really good stuff on this one playlist…”  
  
    Sam looked up to see Bucky staring at him.  
  
    “What now? You gotta stop doing that, dude.”  
  
    “Sorry. Hey, is it okay if…” Bucky’s eyes darted away and he seemed hesitant to continue.  
  
    “Hey,” Sam said, his voice gentler than usual, “you’re ok. Go ahead.”  
  
    “This thing.” Bucky held up his metal hand, which gleamed dully in the low bedroom lights. “It’s pretty uncomfortable.”  
  
    Sam nodded. ‘Uncomfortable’ was probably a huge understatement.  
  
    “I feel… pretty good. Right now. Uh… relaxed.” Bucky seemed oddly shy for someone who had just dry-humped Sam less than an hour ago, and been shamelessly sucked off less than 20 minutes ago.  
  
    “That’s good, Barnes. Feeling relaxed is okay.”  
  
    “Yeah. So can I… take it off?”  
  
    “You were just butt-naked. What you got against clothes?”  
  
    “No, no… this.” He waved the mechanical arm slightly, and Sam suddenly understood.  
  
    “Oh. _Oh._ Of course, man. Yeah. Go ahead.” _He’s already comfortable enough around me to be this vulnerable. Shit._  
  
    “You won’t mind? Some people are weirded out.” Bucky was still not quite meeting Sam’s eyes. _He’s afraid of rejection_ . He hated getting all Counselor Wilson in his private time, but there it was.  
  
    “Barnes. You’re not the only friend I have who’s disabled. Or who has a prosthetic. I wasn’t thinking-- must be heavy as fuck.” Sam didn't even notice that he'd referred to Bucky as his friend.  
  
    Bucky let out a small _woosh_ of relief. “You have no idea.” He sat up, reaching across with his right hand. Although it wasn’t possible to remove the entire prosthesis, it was possible to detach the arm from the shoulder joint. Bucky never went out of the house without it, for safety’s sake, but he occasionally removed it while in Steve’s apartment or his motel room to stretch his aching shoulders and back, and just… _get away_ from it for a little bit.  
  
    Sam opened his mouth to ask if Bucky needed help, but thought better of it. _He’ll ask if he needs it._ To distract from staring awkwardly at him, Sam went back to scrolling through his iPod. Stevie Wonder played softly through the speakers as Bucky continued the process of disconnecting and removing his metal arm.  
  
    Sam didn’t say anything when he heard Bucky muffle several sounds of pain. He merely reached out without taking his eyes off his iPod and placed his hand on the swell of Bucky’s right bicep, squeezing very lightly.  
  
    “Thanks,” Bucky finally said, his voice ever so slightly shaky. He lay back, and Sam finally looked at him. He was paler than usual, a light sheen of sweat on his face.  
  
    “It hurt?” Sam asked, carefully keeping pity out of his voice. Bucky nodded.  
  
    “Not as much as havin’ it on, though.” He rubbed at the left side of his chest, the mass of raised scars marking where his prosthetic had been cruelly attached to his flesh. He looked slightly smaller, slightly less intimidating-- but still like Bucky.  
  
    “That thing’s gotta fuck up your back,” Sam commented. Bucky nodded again.  
“Roll over.”  
  
    “What?”  
  
    “Got a talent for back massages,” Sam said, sitting up and wiggling his fingers. Bucky raised his eyebrows, but he complied and rolled over, resting his cheek against the pillow. Sam made to move, but he paused.  
  
    “Anywhere you don’t want me to touch?”  
  
    “Huh?”  
  
    “Is there anywhere you feel weird about me touching?”  
  
    Bucky paused. His throat felt tight.  
  
_No one’s ever asked me that._

    He shrugged his left shoulder slightly. The one with metal viciously embedded into his skin. The sign of his monstrous deeds, his torture. He’d never really thought of someone touching him again. No one but maybe Steve.  
  
    “No,” he said, his voice a little strange, a little muffled.  
  
    “Okay. Holler if anything doesn’t sit right.” Sam didn’t say anything about Bucky’s reaction to the question. He knew repressed emotion when he heard it.

    “It’ll be easier if I sit on you. That okay?”  
  
    Bucky wasn’t sure why the questions were making him feel so strange ( _yes he was_ ).  
  
    “Yeah. Okay.”  
  
    Sam cracked his knuckles and carefully straddled Bucky’s hips, sitting on the swell of his buttocks.  
    “All right. Gonna start.”  
  
_He keeps making sure I’m okay._ It had been so long since anyone had done anything but tell him what to do. Where to go. What to think _._  
  
    Sam very gently touched Bucky’s thick scar tissue, pressing and smoothing along the tense muscles of his back. Bucky made a strange sound, hastily clearing his throat to hide it. Sam stopped immediately.  
  
    “Hurt?”  
  
    “No.”  
  
    “Feel weird? Want me to stop?”  
  
_No one’s ever touched my scars like that_ . Even Steve was careful around the arm, both of them hesitant to talk frankly about it. It was the biggest change that had been forced upon Bucky since Steve had last seen him; like a tender bruise, they both avoided touching upon it.  
  
    “No. Please. ’S ok.” _Please don’t stop._ He felt the tears prickle at the corners of his eyes and he was glad his face was hidden in the pillow. _This is pathetic._  
  
    “All right.” Sam didn’t say anything about the quiet sounds Bucky was making, nor the slight shaking in his shoulders. He worked slowly, kneading the tight knots from Bucky’s muscles. Bit by bit, Bucky went limp under him, his limbs relaxing and his strange sounds slowly fading away. Sam, suddenly feeling tender in a way he couldn’t quite explain, leaned forward and placed a kiss at the nape of Bucky’s neck.

    He got a mouthful of hair for his trouble.  
  
    Bucky laughed as Sam sputtered, although the sound was a little shaky. Sam moved off him and flopped back on the bed. Bucky rolled to face him; his eyes were a little red.  
  
    “Better?” Sam asked, resisting the urge to touch Bucky’s face. _Dunno why I’m so sappy, but that shit better quit.  
  
_     “Mmmm,” Bucky hummed, smiling slightly.  
  
    “You wanna talk about it?” Sam’s voice was carefully casual.  
  
    “About what?” Bucky asked evasively. Sam brushed his thumb along Bucky’s cheek before he knew what he was doing.  
  
    “C’mon, Barnes.”  
  
_About me crying like a baby because you touched me with kindness? About my heart feeling like it’s going to burst every time you say ‘Barnes’? About you not treating me like I’m broke or damaged? About how much that means?_

    Bucky pressed his face against Sam’s palm, closing his eyes briefly. Sam ignored the mild feeling of weirdness, instead focusing on the overwhelming feeling of _rightness_. He was seriously having A Romantic Moment with Bucky Barnes and that didn’t bother him nearly as much as it should’ve. Bucky pressed a kiss to Sam’s hand before he leaned up, somewhat awkwardly using his right arm to prop himself up.

    “I’m ok. Hey. Your turn.”  
  
    “The hell you talkin’ about?”  
  
    “C’mon, I’m not half-bad at massages myself…” Bucky joked lightly, holding up his one hand. “Eh? _Half_ -bad?  
  
    “That’s _dark,_ Barnes.”  
  
    “Least I can do. Ruined your bathroom tile… technically your fault for being so good at--”  
  
    “All right, all _right_ . At this point I’ll _pay_ you to stop talking about my blowjob skills.”  
  
    “Good. Sit up so I can reach…”  
  
    Sam groaned with pleasure as Bucky’s fingers pressed into his lower back, hitting the spots where he usually carried his tension.

    “Quit it,” Bucky murmured.  
  
    “Quit-- _ahhh_ , that’s good-- quit what?” Sam asked, eyes half-closed with still-slightly-high, post-orgasmic, getting-a-back-massage bliss.  
  
    “Makin’ those sounds.”  
  
    “You ain’t gonna tell me how -- _ow --_ how to sound -- _OW --_ in my own damn home.”  
  
    “It’s makin’ me … y’know.”  
  
    “ _Again_ ?”  
  
    “Yeah.”  
  
    “Tough it out, soldier.” Sam snorted, but he felt a now-familiar stirring in his stomach. Bucky had been the only one to get off in the shower (Sam had been too sensitive to touch at the time)...  
  
    “Gonna lie down,” Sam drawled, feeling like an overcooked noodle. He flopped on his side, feeling the entirety of the day crash into him. He was exhausted. He was ready to sleep. Except…  
  
    Bucky had curled behind him. _Fuck, I’m the little spoon._ Sam’s high was only just starting to fade, but he still shook with silent laughter-- until he felt something hard pressed against his ass.  
  
    “Barnes, _seriously_ ?”  
  
    “I’m sorry,” Bucky said, meaning it. He moved away slightly, but Sam pushed back against him.  
  
    “Didn't say to stop,” Sam muttered.  
  
    “Mmm...”  
  
    Bucky breathed softly into the space between them, the air suddenly practically crackling with tension. He trailed his hand down Sam’s arm, waiting for a sign to continue. Sam pressed deliberately against Bucky, humming agreeably. Bucky slowly, agonisingly dragged his fingers down Sam’s taut stomach, revelling in the suddenly unsteady quality of Sam’s breathing as he did so.  
  
    “Buck--”  
  
    “Nope.”  
  
    “ _Barnes_ … ” Sam’s heart was beating a little harder now; Bucky’s hand was so close. After what felt like an eternity, Bucky’s warm fingers finally closed around Sam’s hardening length for the first time. At the same time, he nipped at Sam’s shoulder, causing him to inhale sharply.

   “Sam,” Bucky groaned, pressing his face into the other man’s bare back. “You feel…”  
  
    Sam didn’t respond, except to reach down and pull at his boxers. He indicated that Bucky should do the same.  
  
    Bucky’s breathing became laboured as he stroked Sam, simultaneously rubbing himself against Sam’s firm, surprisingly smooth ass. He heard the telltale increase in Sam’s soft panting and slowed his rhythm, deliciously teasing and drawing out the moment. Sam moaned deep in his throat, and Bucky stilled himself; it had almost sent him over the edge.  
  
    “Barnes. Fuck. I’m…”  
  
    “Mhm?”  
  
    “C’mon…”  
  
    “Not yet.”  
  
    “Hurry up--”  
  
    “You really want me to?” Bucky murmured in Sam’s ear, before gently closing his teeth around Sam’s earlobe. Sam made a low, desperate sound that made Bucky’s cock twitch in response.  
“Didn’t think so.”  
  
Both men were incredibly close now, their banter stilted from their uneven breathing and exertion.  
    “You-- always this-- bossy?” Sam managed. Bucky lazily rubbed his palm over the head of Sam’s cock, wrestling a strangled exclamation from him.  
  
    “Sometimes,” Bucky breathed. He felt like every nerve ending was lit up, like he couldn’t get enough air. He wanted to live in the hot, claustrophobic moment until he died--

    “ _Barnes._ ”  
  
    “Mm-hm,” Bucky hummed idly. He could feel Sam tensing up, knew he was close--  
“Come for me,” he practically _purred_ in Sam’s ear.  
  
    Sam’s breath left him in a long sigh, shortly before he let out an agonized-sounding noise, his body tensing as his cock pulsed in Bucky’s hand.

 

_oh_

  
    Bucky waited just long enough for Sam to come down a little, before pulling him close to him and holding him through his aftershocks. After Sam was able to remember the year and his own name, he turned and reached for Bucky, seeing that the other man was still aroused. He was surprised when Bucky shook his head.  
  
    “Just wanna look at you,” he said quietly, taking himself in hand. Sam was _beautiful_ , there was no other word for it. His lips were parted as he breathed heavily, his skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat and perfectly warmed by the low yellow lights in the room. Sam watched Bucky watching him as he brought himself near the edge again. _This should be weird. This should be really fucking weird._  
  
    It wasn’t.  
  
    Soon, Bucky was biting down on his lip again, trying to hold back. Lazily, Sam leaned forward and pressed his lips to Bucky’s.  
  
    “ _C’mon, Barnes_ ,” he murmured against Bucky’s mouth. Bucky let out a shuddering groan as he came for the third time in less than 2 hours.  
  
    “Damn… my sheets,” Sam said sleepily, a tinge of disapproval in his voice. Bucky just mumbled incoherently and pulled Sam close, sinking into another long kiss.  
  
    After a few moments, Sam tried to ungracefully extract himself from the tangle of limbs. “Jesus, you’re a fucking furnace, lemme go…”  
  
    “Mmngh.”  
  
    “We should shower again.”  
  
    “Mm.”  
  
    “You dead?”  
  
    “Mhm.”  
  
    Sam rolled over to get out of the bed and head to the shower, but was pulled into a strong one-armed embrace again.  
  
    “ _Barnes._ ”  
  
    “Mmmm?”  
  
    “You’re too hot, man.”  
  
    “Mhm?”  
  
    “Let go, will ya?”  
  
    “Mm-mm.”  
  
  
    Sam sighed and settled into the messy, overly warm grip. He knew that Bucky would let him go if Sam really wanted it, but … what he _really_ wanted was to sleep. Bucky pressed his face against the back of Sam’s neck, curling his larger frame around him as he sleepily peppered Sam’s shoulder with kisses.  
  
  
Bucky’s phone buzzed with a text message as they slept deeply, barely moving from their positions all night.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: TWO! TWO! TWO for the price of ONE! [That means there's part II, natch].
> 
> Is there any better way to go from enemies to kinda-boyfriends than weed and dick-touching?
> 
> Probably, but I'm not interested in hearing about it.)
> 
> \-----> NEXT CHAPTER: also Steve! Kinda!


	12. please, no more (playing with my heart) pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is moony-eyed. (ew gross)
> 
> He hears some important words from a friend.

    The Captain America uniform was hanging in the closet, at the front so that it could be easily grabbed when necessary. Steve’s room was impeccably neat and simply furnished, with a few pictures of the Howling Commandos, Peggy, himself and Bucky, newer ones of some of the Avengers, and one of himself and Sam in Avengers uniforms.

    One who didn’t know Steve Rogers well might be surprised at the sentimentality, but the pictures helped him to remember the past and steady him in the present. Probably foolish to have this kind of personal stuff out where enemies could get at them and use them, but you couldn’t begrudge the guy a few comforts. He was always a little out of place.  
  
    Steve was currently sitting up in his bed, thoroughly ignoring the reports strewn around him.  
  
_ROGERS: You guys beating each other up, or off?_  
  
    He’d sent a message to his group chat with Sam and Bucky, unable to resist teasing them. He usually wasn’t so crude in text, but he tended to be more crass with his closest friends (Bucky was far worse, anyway.) He’d sent the text several hours ago, but no response had come yet. Since Bucky hadn’t come home with a black eye, Steve assumed that he and Sam had gotten along just fine.  
  
_I wonder what they look like together._  
  
    Steve suppressed the excited stirring in his groin and quickly wrestled that thought into the “Deal With Later” box. (There was a lot of stuff in that box.)

    His phone chimed, interrupting his increasingly desperate attempts not to think of Sam and Bucky’s bodies entwined--

  
_ROGERS: You guys beating each other up, or off?_  
  
_B: option 2._  
  
_ROGERS: Seriously?_  
  
_B: yep_  
  
_ROGERS: What happened?_  
  
_B: i dont kiss & tell_  
  
_ROGERS: You do lots more than that and tell._  
  
_B: ;)_  
  
_SAM W.: steve mind ur bizniz n barnes if ur gonna gossip at 7 in teh morning TURN UR FUCKING SOUND OFF IM TRYING 2 FUKNG SLEEP_

  
    Steve grinned at the screen. Bucky was being a smug little shit, and Sam was as irritable in the morning as he ever was, which meant things had gone better than good. At least one of them knew what they were doing.  
  
  
\---

   “ _Why_ you people already awake and texting? Super-soldiers are super-annoying.” Sam put his phone back on the nighstand and closed his eyes, scowling slightly.  _Stupid sunlight._  
   
    Bucky grimaced, glancing up from his phone. “‘Super-annoying.’ Pretty bad. Not your usual standard.”  
  
    “How ‘bout this: I’m hungover and you can eat my ass.”  
  
    “Will do.”  
  
    “Barnes, shut up and make some coffee or I’ll throw you out the fucking window.”  
  
    “Mhm. Oh-- Steve says to tell you ‘hi’ and that he’s sorry for waking you up. Why’s he always sound like someone’s grandma when he texts… ”  
  
    “He’s _always_ like a grandma. Full-stop.”   
  
    “Just told him about yesterday. Sorta. Wanna leave the details until I can see his face. He gets so red… ”  
  
    “Don’t be an even bigger asshole than usual, Barnes.” _We don’t have to taunt the poor guy._  
  
    “Nah. He’ll live.” Bucky looked down at Sam; his face still sleepy, but the small smile on his face was gentle. “You still okay? With this?”  
  
    Sam closed his eyes again. “Not so okay with your morning breath, but otherwise, yeah.” He wrinkled his nose and punched Bucky’s thigh as Bucky breathed purposefully in his face.

\---  
  
  
    Although it was early (by Sam’s weekend standards), Bucky was getting ready to go.  
  
    “Don’t want you to get sick of me,” he joked, lacing up his boots.  
  
    “ _Way_ too fuckin’ late for that.” Sam watched him, clad in only his rumpled boxers and clutching a large cup of coffee. Bucky’s eyes took him in, his face betraying the fact that he really, _really_ wanted to stay. Sam could get used to being looked at like that.

    “Why you in a hurry anyway?”  
  
    Bucky straightened. “Gonna see Steve.”  
  
    “Oh?”  
  
    “Yeah. Wanna talk to him. About us. Face-to-face.”  
  
Sam nodded slowly. ' _Us.' Wow._  
  
    “He deserves that much, I guess,” Sam allowed. Bucky stepped forward to give Sam a deep, lingering kiss that almost sent them back to the bedroom.  
  
    “Okay, okay, fuck off now,” Sam said, a little breathless.  
  
    “When can I see you again?”  
  
    “Why, Sergeant Barnes, you sweet on me or somethin’?” Sam drawled in an overly-sweet (and very bad) ‘Southern belle’ voice. Bucky just smiled.   
  
    “Yeah.”  
  
Sam made a face as he took another sip of his coffee. “Too much cocoa, Barnes.”  
  
    “I’ll get it right next time.”

 

\---

 

 _I’m being disgusting._ For the umpteenth time that morning, Sam had caught himself smiling vaguely into space. He was preoccupied, his mind replaying bits of the previous night. He felt a little bit silly about how happy he was; he even whistled as he made breakfast and tidied the apartment. _Because I’m a goddamn Disney princess._ (Well, he _had_ always found that birds seemed to like him a lot. Maybe he just had the best bread crumbs.)

He was considering going back to bed when his phone buzzed.  
  
_A. CHAHAL: b there at 11_

Sam frowned. What was happening at 11? Had he forgotten a date with Anaya?  
  
_SAM W: dont kill me but i have no idea whats @ 11_  
  
_A. CHAHAL: Youre fucking kidding me right? You promised me the whole day_  
  
_SAM W: shit i 4got_  
  
_A. CHAHAL: too bad. already on my way & dont tell me i put on a bra for nothing. _

 

Sam answered the light knock on his door with an apologetic expression.

 _“_ Ana, babe, don’t be mad, but I dunno if I’m gonna be good company today… I’m wiped out.”  
  
She entered, automatically slipping off her heels and stepping barefoot into the kitchen. She kissed Sam on the cheek and looked him over.  
  
    “You got a good fuck, Wilson.” She could always tell.

Sam scoffed but was unable to hide his huge grin in time. Anaya’s eyebrows shot up.  
    
    “You _did!_ Who is she? She still here? Oh my god, should I go?”  
  
    “It wasn't  _technically_  a 'fuck,' and not she, _he_ , and no, he left,” Sam corrected her, reaching for his mug of tea. She winced slightly.  
  
    “Stupid assumption. My bad. Do I get to hear about it?”  
  
    “How much you wanna hear?”  
  
    “All of it.”  
  
    “Nasty.”

    “Shut,” she said dismissively, struggling slightly to pull herself up onto one of his high kitchen stools. He sometimes forgot how tiny she was.

    “Okay,” Sam said, already relishing her inevitable reaction. “Barnes just left half hour ago.”  
  
    Her blank look made the leadup to the reveal even more fun for Sam.  
“And?” she said, nonplussed. She couldn’t even begin to imagine that it had been Bucky who had Sam all aglow that morning.  
  
    “Ana… he was the one that spent the night." He waited with well-concealed eagerness for her to put two and two together.

Her shriek of “WHAT?!” rang through the kitchen.

  
\---

    “That’s… intense,” Anaya said sometime later after Sam had told her all the salacious details that she'd demanded. She had a humongous mug of tea, and was nibbling on a bagel.  
“And hot. It’s going in the spank bank for sure.”  
  
    “Anaya, you’re so _nasty_. Stop.”  
  
    “You love it. Anyway… are you happy, though? You’re annoyingly chipper.”  
  
    “The hell I am--” Sam broke off to check a message that flashed on his screen.  
  
    It was a snapchat video. Off-camera, Bucky’s voice: _“And_ ** _then_** _he did this crazy thing with his tongue in the shower, man, I tell you, I damn near saw stars. And then…”_ Bucky zoomed in on Steve, who was covering his face, laughing. Even half-hidden by his hands, you could see how pink he’d gotten.  
  
    Sam guffawed, missing Anaya’s raised eyebrow as he tapped out a quick response.  
  
_SAM W.: u hav NO chill dude. sry bout that steve_ _  
__  
__B.: sex is a beautiful thing and nothing to be ashamed of sam_ _  
_  
_ROGERS: Some of us are more Catholic than others. But congrats, really. [thumbs up emoji]_

    A small smile lit up Sam’s features as he read it, and he looked up to see Anaya smiling fondly at him.  
  
    “First of all: super rude to check your phone, you have a guest.”  
  
    “You’re not a guest, you’re Anaya.”  
  
    “Rude. _Rude._ But look at your stupid face! You look like such a dork when you’re happy. I’m glad.” She took a long sip of tea, seeming to want to say something else.  
“So you and Bucky Barnes. Jesus. And Cap’s take on this?”  
  
    “He knows.”

    “And?”

    “He’s supportive, but… I’m gonna talk to him soon,” Sam sighed, leaning back against the counter. He and Steve hadn’t had a face-to-face talk-- a real one -- in almost 4 months.  
  
    “And?”  
  
    “And and what?” Sam asked, frowning. Anaya impatiently tapped her long nails on her mug.  
  
    “And and are you done with Rogers or not?”  
  
Sam blinked and set down his own cup.  
  
    “I don’t think he’s given up on me,” he said carefully.  
  
    “That’s not what I asked.”  
  
    “I think… I don’t think I’ve totally given up on him either,” he said quietly. Anaya took a small bite of her bagel, chewing slowly as she thought.  
  
    “Then he’s gotta deserve that second chance,” she said decisively. Sam half-shrugged.  
“No, baby, listen. He may be the finest specimen of man I’ve _ever_ seen-- except you of course--”  
  
    “Suck-up.”  
  
    “ _Shut_. He may be fine as hell, but he fucked up big. He’s gotta prove that _he’s_ worthy of _you._ ”  
  
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. America’s perfect poster boy had to prove himself worthy of Sam?  
  
    “You heard me,” Anaya said firmly. “He’s gotta… he’s gotta like… _woo_ you. Treat you right. Prove he can treat you _both_ right.”  
  
    “You didn’t just say ‘woo.’ Please tell me you didn’t.”  
  
    “I did and I mean it. Now go put on some damn clothes, you’re supposed to take me dress-shopping.”  
  
Sam pondered Anaya’s words as he hastily pulled on his jeans and a fresh t-shirt. _He’s gotta treat you right._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: Oh hey it's Anaya! Because Sam Has Friends Who Aren't Avengers, Dammit.
> 
> Steve's gonna have to work work work work work work /Rihanna voice
> 
> Next time: Steve and Sam have A Chat.
> 
> The rough draft of the fic is preeeetty much done, it's just undergoing extensive editing now!
> 
> And I've barely posted half of it
> 
> Holy shit help what have I gotten myself into)


	13. i hope she knows that i'll love her long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Handsome men meet in a park to talk. Bucky makes A Confession(tm). Kinda. Sam gives the thumbs-up to Stage Two of Happy Poly Trio.

   “Sam?”  
  
Sam looked up from his phone, hiding his sudden flurry of nerves behind a big smile. He was sitting on a bench in a small park near his workplace, and he and Steve were meeting face-to-face for the first time since the Breakfast Fiasco.   
  
   Sam had been seeing Bucky for almost 7 months, and although he hadn’t officially moved in, Bucky was at Sam’s house more often than not (they took a couple days off from each other every week; Bucky usually went to hang out with Steve and Sam either went to see other friends or his mother, or happily spent time alone.)   
  
   Steve hadn’t pressured Sam for a meeting, the two of them slowly building back up their close friendship through frequent calls and texts. Sam had gotten up the nerve to call Steve to discuss himself and Bucky, not long after they had first gotten together.   


 

  
         _“Steve?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Sam. Hey, good to hear your voice…”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Sam rolled his eyes. Steve was so cheesy. (As if he didn’t like that.)_ _  
_ _  
_ _“You good?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Yeah, I’m… good…”_ _  
_ _  
__“Don’t sound so good.”_ _  
_ _  
__“Uhhh… well, Bucky just told me… about you two.”_ _  
_ _  
_ Oh. _Sam chewed his lower lip, buying some time. He had actually called Steve partially to talk to him about it; he didn’t want Steve to feel he was being shunted aside (considering that Sam knew damn well how shitty that felt), but he wanted to be up-front about his relationship with Bucky._ _  
_ _  
__“Sam?”_ _  
_ _  
__“Yeah. Sorry. Yeah, I guess it’s a thing.”_ _  
_

_"It’s ‘a thing,’” Steve repeated, laughing. “That’s such a_ **_Sam_ ** _way to put it.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Sam grinned, slightly relieved that Steve was at least laughing about it. “You know me.”_ _  
_

_“I do.” Steve’s voice was slightly wistful._ _  
_ _  
__"Uh… so, how you feel about it?” Sam had to tread carefully; he wasn’t Steve’s counsellor and he might be too close to the situation to be impartial._ _  
_

_"Not surprised… even back when you guys were fighting I felt something between you.”_

_“The hell you did, Rogers. Wishful thinking.”_ _  
_ _  
__“Sure, Sam. Sure. But uh… I’m a little-- not_ **_hurt_ ** _per se, but. Y’know, just… highlights where we-- where I went wrong.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Sam raised his eyebrows, impressed. Steve had gotten much better at calmly discussing his feelings with Sam since he’d been seeing his therapist._ _  
_ _  
__“That’s kinda rough,” Sam commented quietly._ _  
_ _  
__“A little,” Steve admitted. “But you guys are happy together. That makes_ **_me_ ** _happy.”_ _  
_ _  
__“Oh, pfffft.”_ _  
_ _  
__“No, really. Honestly. You should see Bucky now; he’s so much more relaxed. Talks about you a lot.”_ _  
_ _  
__“Ugh.”_ _  
_ _  
__“A little,” Steve said again, laughing. “But it just… shows me that it’s good. All of it. It’s a good thing.”_ _  
_ _  
__“And you’re not…”_ _  
_ _  
__“Jealous? I’d be lying if I said ‘no.’ But I’m talking about it with Dr. Yeun. I think I’m more happy you guys aren’t trying to kill each other than anything else.”_ _  
_ _  
__“Okay, good. That’s good.” Sam moved away from the topic of him and Bucky, not wanting to tread in sensitive areas (at least over the phone.)_ _  
__“Listen… you wanna meet? Talk?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Steve’s surprised silence was the only answer._ _  
_ _  
__“Just us,” Sam hastened to add. Steve hadn’t been around him and Bucky together, and he didn’t want to rub it in the guy’s face._ _  
_ _  
__“Are you sure?”_ _  
_ _  
__“Yeah. Been a long time since you’ve ordered me some flapjacks.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Steve laughed. “I thought you’d never wanna eat pancakes again, considering…”_ _  
_ _  
__“I’ll stop eating pancakes when I’m_ **_dead_ ** _.”_ _  
_ _  
__“That’s good to hear. Well, not the ‘dead’ part. Don’t die.”_ _  
_ _  
__“You’re not the boss of me, Rogers.”_ _  
_ _  
__“Definitely not. So, what time…?”_

 

They’d arranged for a meeting the next week, but life had gotten in the way; Steve had had to go on several short missions; Sam had started back up at the DVA part-time and was immediately engulfed in meetings and paperwork… the next thing they knew, it had been several _months_ later. Sam had taken the initiative of texting Steve to meet him on the spur of the moment, while he was on his lunch break.   
  
    “Steve,” Sam said, raising his hand in greeting. _Shit, he looks good._ Steve was wearing a cream-coloured t-shirt, blue jeans and a dark brown leather jacket to protect against the unusually chilly day. He had two cups of coffee in hand, and he touched one to his forehead in salute.   
  
Sam’s smile made Steve feel like he’d finally come home. It was the same warmth, the same sweet little gap between his teeth. Sam had somehow gotten even more good-looking during their time apart; he was dressed in full black today, a chunky knit sweater doing little to hide his fit body. _I missed him._ A lot more than he’d expected. And there was no way he could tell Sam that, not when their friendship was just back on its feet…   
  
Steve held out one of the coffees and Sam took it, accidentally brushing his fingers against Steve’s. They both worked hard to ignore the rush of warmth that came to their faces, and Sam cleared his throat.   
  
    “Thanks for meeting me.”   
  
    “Thanks for asking.”   
  
In the unexpectedly awkward silence that followed, Steve sat next to Sam and took a swig of coffee. Which he swiftly spat out, making a face of disgust.   
  
    “I think… this one’s yours,” he said drily, holding it out. Sam, frowning confusedly, accepted it and took a cautious sip. Coffee and hot chocolate.   
  
    “Don’t be dramatic, Rogers. This is good stuff.”   
  
Steve just wrinkled his nose, taking a big gulp of his black coffee (that had a terrifying amount of sugar added.) “I dunno how you drink that stuff,” he said after he swallowed. 

    “I dunno how _you_ drink black coffee,” Sam muttered. They grinned at each other for a moment.   
  
    “Good to see you, Sam. You look good.”   
  
    “I sure do,” Sam quipped. “You too, man. You good?”   
  
    “Yeah. Keeping busy… and Dr. Yeun is great.”   
  
    “Glad you like her. She had a lot of good reviews from the guys at work.”   
  
    “Thanks again for the recommendation. How’re _you_ ?”   
  
    “Remembering why I took such a long leave of absence,” Sam grumbled. “Think I can call the Avengers to help with the literal mountain of paperwork I got?”   
  
    “ _Avengers, assemble… fill out form 34-G_ ,” Steve said, mockingly imitating his own ‘Captain America voice.’   
  
Sam laughed and then sighed a little. “Missed the guys at work, though,” he admitted. He was only officially there part-time, but he was usually there for over 10 hours each day, seeing clients off the clock. He just couldn’t stop himself; they needed him, so he was there.   
  
    “Always helping people,” Steve mused, leaning back and stretching his legs. “One of the things I like about you.”   
  
    “You help people too,” Sam said, dodging the compliment. _This feels… weird. Good-weird. But still kinda weird._   
  
    “Guess that’s why we’re friends.” A pause. “So… how’re you and Buck?”   
  
Sam raised his eyebrows. _He wants to talk about this?_ “We’re good.” _Better than good. We’re in love and it’s pretty fucking gross._

    “I’m glad. He seems happy.” Steve smiled a little. “He’s been teaching me sign language.” Sam had suggested trying to use simple ASL to help them to communicate whenever Bucky felt too overwhelmed to speak; they’d found it to be a perfect way for them to talk about some of the more tricky things they’d had to deal with.   
  
    “And you?” Sam asked carefully. They’d danced around the subject of Steve and Bucky a little over the phone, but Sam hadn’t really gotten around to asking what he really wanted to.   
  
    “What about me?”   
  
    “You miss him?” That… hadn’t _quite_ been what he’d meant to ask. Or at least not how he’d meant to ask it.

Sam had broached the subject with Bucky recently; Bucky had been hesitant to answer, not wanting Sam to think that he wasn’t enough for him. Sam had eventually dragged it out of him; Bucky missed Steve, but he was happy with Sam. _Hell, I miss Steve too._ It had taken several more very long, very careful conversations for Sam and Bucky to reach the same conclusion. But the ball was in Sam’s court; Bucky had made that clear.   
  
Steve looked mildly surprised, pausing in the middle of taking another sip of coffee.   
  
    “I… don’t really know how to answer that, Sam.”   
  
    “Sure you do.”   
  
    “My mouth gets me in trouble. You know that.”   
  
    “Just say it, Steve. I won’t bite your head off.”   
  
Steve’s facial expression bordered on ‘I just slammed my hand in a car door’ as he struggled to think of the right words.   
  
    “I miss _both_ of you,” he said simply. Sam blinked. He hadn’t expected that answer.   
  
    “Both…?”   
  
    “You said you wouldn’t bite my head off,” Steve said, sounding slightly nervous.   
  
    “I’m not. I won’t. Just processing.”   
  
Steve nodded, fiddling with the lid of his coffee cup. Sam was looking at him, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead.   
  
_Both of us._ How did he feel about that? Not angry… mostly surprised. He’d assumed that Steve would pine for Bucky, of course, but Sam himself? Still? _Hmmm._   
  
It was a good thing they were having this chat.   
  


 

_“You promised to tell me the truth,” Sam had said gently a few months ago. Bucky wasn’t meeting his eyes, shifting uncomfortably on the bed beside him._ _  
__“Barnes. We need to talk about Steve. Okay?”_ _  
__  
__“Okay. But, please. I’m not-- I like this. Us. A lot. A_ ** _lot._** _”_ _  
__  
__“Okay.”_ _  
__  
__“Okay.” Bucky looked up now, making steady eye contact. “I do.”_ _  
__  
__“You miss him.”_ _  
__  
__“Yeah. But-”_ _  
__  
__“I know, you like this,” Sam said quietly. What was he feeling? Hurt? Not quite…_ _  
__  
__“No. I don’t… like,” Bucky suddenly said, reaching for Sam’s hand with his human hand. He’d removed his metal prosthesis, as he often did when he was at Sam’s apartment._ _  
__  
__Sam felt a small flutter of panic that he didn’t show._ He doesn’t like this…? _  
__  
__“Sam.”_ _  
__  
__“Yeah?”_ _  
__  
__“Sam. Not just ‘like.’ I’m. Y’know.”_ _  
__  
__“I don’t understand, Barnes. C’mon, take your time. You can say it.” Sam and Bucky still made fun of each other relentlessly, even when they shared lazy Sunday-morning kisses or curled up on the couch to watch cooking show marathons. But Sam never mocked Bucky’s inability to express himself easily. Sam raised his hands, one palm up, and rested the side of the other hand on his palm. Quickly raising his hand towards himself twice, he inclined his head slightly and raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you alright?’_ _  
__  
__Bucky nodded. He took a deep breath, raised his hand, and folded his middle and ring fingers down, leaving his thumb, pointer and pinky fingers extended. ‘I love you.’ Bucky scowled, more at his difficulty in vocally saying the words than anything else._ _  
__  
__Sam’s brain had slammed the Panic And Flail Button._ Love? Love. He loves. He’s in love. With me. Bucky Barnes. With me. _  
__  
__Bucky was looking a little worried._ Say something, Sam, say something say something _  
__  
__Sam spread the fingers of his right hand, shaking it up and down with a genuine look of surprise. ‘Wow.’_ Good job, Sam. Stellar. _  
__  
__Bucky mimicked Sam, rolling his eyes a little to express sarcasm._ _  
__  
__Sam almost headbutted Bucky in his haste to kiss him._ _  
__“Fuck. Okay, no, sorry. Me… me too. Me too, me too, me too…” with every other word, he kissed Bucky; a rare outward display of romantic affection from him. Bucky was turning slightly red (also rare), but his small smile said it all._ _  
__  
__Sam hadn’t let himself fall in love since Riley had died (aside from a certain jogging partner who would remain unnamed.)_ _  
__  
__“That’s. Uhm. Good.” Bucky was mumbling, all but hiding his face against Sam’s neck. It was rare that he was embarrassed, but actually saying the words he’d felt for months on end did the trick._ _  
__“Feel kinda dumb sayin’ it out loud.”_ _  
__  
__Sam laughed and slipped his fingers into Buck’s hair, massaging lightly. He felt the other man relax against him._ _  
__“No. It’s okay to say that. Okay?”_ _  
__Bucky nodded mutely. He reached for Sam, eager to show in actions what he couldn’t always say with words._

 

_\---_

 

_“Still wanna talk about Steve?” Sam asked later in bed, both of them recovering from a vigorous bout of I-just-confessed-my-love sex. Bucky turned his head to look at Sam._ _  
_ _  
__“Now?” he asked, looking confused._ _  
_ _  
__“Now’s good.” They were both calm, happy, and most importantly… secure in how the other felt. No time like the present._ _  
_ _  
__“Uh. Okay.”_ _  
_ _  
__“Okay.” Sam rolled onto his side, reaching out to trace his fingers over Bucky’s scars. Bucky never said it aloud, but Sam knew that he felt better when people didn’t avoid his disability; Sam was always reassuring him in little ways without really noticing. Touching his left shoulder. Absently-mindedly pressing kisses to the ugly, raised scars._

_“You wanna know if I miss Steve,” Bucky said, closing his eyes with pleasure as Sam’s fingers skated over his skin._ _  
_ _  
_ _Sam hummed in agreement._ _  
_ _  
__“I mean. I see him all the time…” Bucky said, somewhat evasive._ _  
_ _  
__“No, Barnes. I mean… romantically. Do you miss being with him?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Bucky’s eyes opened and he stared at Sam. He moved closer so that he could drape a leg over Sam’s hip and pull him towards him._ _  
_ _  
__“Sam.”_ _  
_ _  
__“Mhm?”_ _  
_ _  
__“You know I. You know.”_ _  
_ _  
__“You looooove me,” Sam drawled, his voice sickeningly sweet. Bucky made a face._ _  
_ _  
__“Gross. But… yeah.”_ _  
_ _  
__“Okay, yeah. I know.”_ _  
_ _  
__“I do miss him. But I love you. Okay?” The words seemed to come easier now._ _  
_ _  
_ _Sam nodded slowly, his eyes still locked with Bucky’s. There was no flicker of doubt, no hasty look away._ _  
_ _“Okay.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Bucky sighed quietly, relieved that Sam hadn’t reacted badly. He had no doubt about his feelings for Sam, but they hadn’t erased his feelings for Steve._ _  
__“Let’s talk about it,” Sam continued. Bucky sat up, using his right arm with a little difficulty._ _  
_ _  
__“Talk about…?”_ _  
_ _  
__“Do you want to see him again?” Sam was surprised that the words didn’t cause him to feel jealousy (well, not much.)_ _  
_ _  
__“See him a-- Sam. Sam, are you. Are we.” Without his other arm, Bucky had to improvise a sign, holding his fist near the centre of his chest and moving it to the side, flicking two fingers down. Sam got the gist. ‘Are we breaking up?’_ _  
_ _  
__“Are we-- no no. Barnes, no. Jesus. I’m not gonna tell you I love you and then dump you. Fuckin’ christ.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Bucky almost sagged with relief. But then… what was Sam saying?_ _  
_ _  
__“You miss him,” Sam said simply. “You two were good together. Maybe…”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Bucky, still looking utterly lost, first touched his index finger to his left and right shoulders. Then, held his fist near his chest and moved it in a small circle, raising his eyebrows in query. ‘Are we together?’_ _  
_ _  
__“We’re still okay. We’re together. Okay? Barnes.” Sam reached out and rubbed Bucky’s arm, knowing that the other man was likely feeling a little overwhelmed._ _  
_ _“Wanna shelf this for another time?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Bucky shook his head no._ _  
_ _  
__“Okay. I’m… look, I trust you. Both of you. Maybe you two should talk.”_ _  
_ _  
__“Talk?” Bucky finally said aloud._ _  
_ _  
__“Yeah.”_ _  
_ _  
__“Like… talk-talk?”_ _  
_ _  
__“Yes.”_ _  
_ _  
__“About. About dating?” Bucky said the last word quietly, like it was made of glass. Sam smiled a little._ _  
_ _  
__“Yes, Barnes. Dating.”_ _  
_ _  
__“But.”_ _  
_ _  
__“If you want to. Do you want to?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Bucky hesitated. “Lemme think about it.”_ _  
_ _  
_

  
    “Bucky called me last week,” Steve said quietly, raising his eyes to meet Sam’s. Sam nodded, taking a sip of his drink. Bucky had already told him about his conversation with Steve; it had been what had spurred Sam to arrange this meeting.   
  
    “He’s… he said… you said…”   
  
    “… that she said, that _he_ said, that that one guy said…”   
  
    “Okay, okay. Bucky said you thought we should… talk?”   
  
    “I do.”   
  
    “Wow. Uh… so, we talked.” Steve was still looking at Sam, searching his face to try to get a read on him. Sam merely looked pleasantly interested (he had a good poker face.)   
  
    “You talked, and…?”   
  
    “About us trying again. I mean… we think it’s… possible. But only with your say-so. We're following your lead, here,” Steve said, nervously tapping his fingers on the side of the cup. Sam raised an eyebrow. _I feel like the Godfather._   
  
    “It would mean I trust Barnes enough.”   
  
    “Yes.”   
  
    “It would mean I trust _you_ enough.”   
  
    “Of course.”   
  
    “Then don’t fuck it up,” Sam said easily, taking an exaggeratedly casual sip of his lukewarm coffee. Steve stared.   
“Take it easy. Take it slow,” Sam continued, more seriously now.   
  
    “Don’t rush things. I’m… better about not doing that now,” Steve said ruefully.   
  
The question of _and us? AND US?_ hung in the air.   
  
    “So, yeah. Guess that’s what I wanted to say. Maybe try it out. Don’t go nuts. And don’t drag me into it.”   
  
Despite the enormity of Sam’s proclamation, Steve felt a tiny stab of disappointment.   
  
    “Okay,” he nodded, keeping the dejection out of his voice. “Keep you out of it. Got it.”   
  
Sam stood, checking the time on his phone. His break was over.   
“Who the fuck said I’d stay out of this mess? I said don’t _drag_ me in. I’ll show up to the party on my own.”   
  
He nodded a farewell and sauntered away, smiling to himself at the expression on the other man's face. Steve couldn’t have looked happier if he’d heard that the jitterbug was suddenly back in style.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: *whew* I'm hauling ass up and down Japan as I write this, but... it's still happening. I just don't know when to freakin' quit. Although Sambucky is a go, Sam has given Stucky a green light, and Samsteve is on the horizon, don't expect much solo-Stucky stuff to come. I'm here to write about Sam, and hopefully you're here to READ about Sam.
> 
> Have I mentioned that I love Sam Wilson?
> 
> Also, if you notice any time discrepancies, PAY NO ATTENTION I AM TERRIBLE WITH NUMBERS LALALA)


	14. if forever, we'll see... pt. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky have a chat.
> 
> About this n that... the good ol' days...
> 
> Sam...

    “Just for 15 minutes?”  
  
Sam didn’t even look up from his laptop. “Nnnnnope,” he said, tapping idly at the enter key; he was trying to think of the most professional way to say ‘We need more fucking funding.’  
  
Bucky tightened the last laces on his boot before straightening, a small scowl on his face. He was about to meet Steve for their first post-Breakfast Incident ‘date,’ and he wanted Sam to be there. Sam had declined, and he wasn’t budging. No matter how sweetly Bucky asked (if “C’mon, asshole” or “Don’t be such a dick” counted as ‘sweet.’ It kinda did for them.)  
  
    “It won’t be weird,” he tried again.  
  
    “It’s gonna be weird.”  
  
    “I won’t make it weird,” Bucky countered, folding his arms.  
  
    “Yeah, _you_ won’t. But I’m pretty sure Bigmouth McBlushalot there is gonna swallow his tongue if _I_ walk in.”  
  
    “Gonna tell him you called him that.”  
  
    “Go ahead, Barnes. Ain’t give a _fuck._ And I got work to do; don’t wanna sit around listening to my boyfriend’s weak-ass 1930s pickup lines. Gonna make me die of secondhand embarassment.” Sam grinned, finally glancing away from the screen.  
  
    “You called me your _boyfriend_.”  
  
    “Keep pissing me off and it’ll be the first and last time.”  
  
    “I’m not pissing you off. So that’s ‘no’ to coffee with us,” Bucky muttered, irritably pushing a lock of hair off of his forehead.  
  
    “You _are_ pissing me off, Barnes. No to coffee, for the 80th time. I gotta finish this proposal and I got maybe...45? Emails to respond to by Thursday.”  
  
Bucky looked mutinous and opened his mouth to whine some more, but Sam held up a hand. “Fuck. Off. Go talk to Steve, see if ya old asses can ...I dunno, go to the sock hop.”  
  
    “To the what?”  
  
    “Dunno. Some old shit. Now go, babe, I’m serious. I’m busy. You’ll be fine.”  
  
    “Okay, but… you called me ‘babe.’ And you called me your boyfriend. I want you to know you did that.”  
  
    “Posting an ad now,” Sam said calmly, opening Craiglist in a new tab.  
  
    “An ad for what?”  
  
    “A new boyfriend, because mine is _fucking shitty._ ”  
  
    “Okay, I’m gone.” Bucky kissed Sam’s temple, only getting a nonsensical grumble from Sam as he went back to typing out his work proposal.  
“Bye, honey.”  
  
    “Don’t call me -- listen. Get. The fuck. Out.”  
  
    “I love you.”  
  
    “I love you too and I hope they put cyanide in your fucking coffee.”  
  
    “That wouldn’t kill me, Sam.”  
  
    “I know, but it’d give me an hour of fucking peace.” Without looking away from his computer, Sam tilted his chin for another goodbye kiss.

 

Bucky left the apartment whistling quietly, his good mood slowly fizzling into nerves that felt like a lead weight in his stomach.

 

\---

 

 _Sam said I’d be fine. Sam’s a goddamn_ **_liar._ **  
  
Bucky had been jittery since he’d taken his first sip of coffee, and it had nothing to do with caffeine (which had little to no effect on him anyway.) Across from him, Steve was looking slightly anxious and tearing a cinnamon bun to small pieces with nervous fingers. They’d spent plenty of time together as friends recently, but now that things had a potential romantic edge again… they were both jumpy as hell.  
  
    “Sam won’t be joining us?” Steve asked for the third time, before wincing (because he realised it was the third time.) Bucky rolled his eyes and pushed aside his coffee.  
  
    “ _No_ , Steve. Why, you want him?” Bad word choice.  
  
    “Uhhh… n-- well,I just thought he might want… input? No, that’s not the right word--”  
  
    “ _Shit_ , I miss getting drunk,” Bucky muttered, finally drawing a laugh from Steve. Over by the coffee bar, the barista glared daggers at Steve, who was trying valiantly to ignore her. Later, Bucky would realise that a) he and Sam were always there together and b) she thought that Bucky was cheating on Sam with Steve.  
  
    “Would make things a little easier if we could get drunk,” Steve admitted. “But it’s… I think we just need to relax. It’s just a coffee date--”  
  
The word ‘date’ made Bucky involuntarily straighten slightly in his seat. _Date._  
  
    “Just… a coffee… friendly chat?” Steve ventured, noting Bucky’s sudden change in posture. Bucky snorted.  
  
    “Feel like someone rammed a firework up my ass and lit the fuse.”  
  
Steve made a half-revolted face. “Geeze, Buck. Hey… wanna get outta here?”  
  
Bucky just stared. Steve took a few moments to realise how that had sounded, and immediately flushed pink.  
“No-- no. I meant out of the -- just to go for a walk. Fresh air?”  
  
    “Oh. Okay. Yeah, let’s ditch.”

  
\---

    “-- and they had the wrong goddamn game on the radio, if you can believe it,” Steve grinned, stealing a handful of Bucky’s potato chips. Without missing a beat, Bucky snatched Steve’s entire falafel wrap and took a huge bite.  
  
    “Wah gay wah ih?”  
  
    “What game? Hmm… the one in ‘41.”  
  
Bucky looked unimpressed as he finished chewing. “Went to more’n one game in ‘41, Steve.”  
  
Steve tried not to show his discomfort with the fact that Bucky had forgotten this particular game, instead forcing a slightly sad smile. Even before the serum, Steve had had an excellent memory; after the super-solider procedure, it was practically flawless. But Bucky… he forgot nowadays. And _why_ he forgot things was an uncomfortable truth to face.  
  
    “Yeah, Buck-- but this one is the one we snuck into with Jimmy Philips, remember? You held up the fence, and--”  
  
    “--you ripped your pants on the metal,” Bucky interjected, suddenly laughing. “I thought Jimmy was gonna have a coronary, he was laughin’ so hard.”  
  
Steve joined in, clutching his stomach as he laughed loudly. “And… and we had to… borrow a needle...and thread… from your sister…”  
     
    “Those were your best pants,” Bucky wheezed, almost dropping his (well, Steve’s) falafel.  
  
    “Those were my _only_ pants,” Steve corrected him, wiping at his eye.  
  
Bucky nodded as he shoved the rest of the food in his mouth. “Aww da truh--”  
  
    “ _Cripes_ , Bucky, at least swallow first.”  
  
Bucky made a big show of chewing and swallowing, emphasizing the loud lip-smacking noises that he knew irked Steve. “‘At least swallow first.’ Not the first time I’ve heard that.”  
  
    “Classy.”  
  
    “Don’t judge. I’m a lover _and_ a fighter.”  
  
    “Think you’re supposed to choose _one_ , Buck.”  
  
    “Since when do I follow rules?”  
  
    “Never.”

\---

  
The sun was starting its slow descent when Bucky lit up a cigarette, sprawled lazily on the grass next to Steve.

    “You said _what_ to the guy?” Steve was asking, looking aghast.  
  
    “That if he said that word to Sam again, I’d stab him in the fuckin’ kidney,” Bucky said, exhaling a stream of smoke as he spoke. Steve briefly closed his eyes, expressions of amusement, anger and disapproval warring for place on his face. Amused disapproval won.  
  
    “You can’t just threaten to stab someone, Buck.”  
  
    “Yeah, and it’s no one’s fuckin’ business who I love or what colour his skin is,” Bucky said heatedly. Steve hid his surprise. Love.  
“Like you wouldn’t do the same damn thing,” Bucky muttered.  
  
    “I wouldn’t,” Steve said firmly. “I’m not as fond of knives as you. I’d flatten his face with the shield, though…”

Bucky laughed, flicking ash into an empty coffee cup.  
“Sam said he didn’t need me to defend him. Got all pissy. But I didn’t think he _needed_ it. Just really wanted to stab the guy.”

    “You stab too many people, Buck.”  
  
    “That’s what _Sam_ said. But I tell him, ‘You stop gettin’ in trouble like you’re Princess Peach and I won’t have to stab anyone.’”  
  
Steve grinned, relieved that he understood the video game reference. “Bet he loved that.”  
  
    “He said Princess Peach was, and I quote, ‘10 times the badass you are, _Bucky Barnes’_ and then he changed the wifi password at home. Asshole.”  
  
Steve shook his head. “You two … I don’t know how you’re still such jerks to each other.”  
  
Bucky winked. “Keeps the spice in the relationship. But… it’s. It’s different now. I dunno. He still thinks I’m a shithead, but I’m _his_ shithead, y’know?” His voice softened a little when he spoke of Sam.  
“Guess I’m kinda your shithead too,” he mumbled, bringing a huge smile to Steve’s face.  
  
    “I get it. Sam has a way of making you feel special for being a pain in his ass,” Steve chuckled. Bucky nudged Steve’s shoulder with his own as he sent a message to their group chat.  
  
_B.: sam stop pretending to work n call me_  
  
    “You two gotta talk soon,” Bucky said, leaning easily against Steve.  
  
    “We talk.” Steve draped his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, the gesture feeling like most natural thing in the world. It was almost as though talking about Sam had broken the ice, relieved their strange tension.  
  
    “ _Really_ talk, though.”  
  
    “I know,” Steve sighed. “I think we both need to be… ready, first.” _I’m ready, but it’s totally up to Sam now._  
  
Bucky’s phone trilled a [song snippet](https://youtu.be/nDWK5IANPWo?t=58)  as the screen lit up. _SAM W._ The accompanying picture was of Sam reading, a cup of coffee halfway to his mouth. Bucky shot an embarrassed look at Steve as Marvin Gaye sang ' _guess I'm just a stubborn kinda fellow, got my mind made up to love you_ .' Steve’s mouth quivered slightly, because he could see Bucky’s mortification at showing his more romantic side to… well, anyone.  
  
    “Don’t tell him this is his ringtone. Or that I have this picture,” Bucky muttered. “Never let me hear the end of it.”  
  
    “I don’t even know the song. Your secret’s safe with me,” Steve lied. _I’m telling Sam as soon as I can._  
  
    “Sam,” Bucky answered the phone. “Yeah. No, still with Steve. No-- _what_ ? No, lemme put you on speaker.”  
  
    “Sam?” Steve said. From the phone came a loud clatter and some choice swearwords.  
  
_“--won’t get my fucking deposit back, that’s for damn sure--_ ”  
  
    “Sam…”  
  
    “ Yeah, I’m here. You two naked yet? ”  
  
Steve choked on his last potato chip and Bucky grimaced at the phone.

    “Nice, Sam. Almost killed Captain America here.”  
  
    “ _Good. Been wanting to give the shield a try…_ ”

    “Thanks, Sam. Really,” Steve coughed, trying to stop laughing long enough to dislodge the troublesome chip.

    “ _No problem. Barnes, you told me to call you. What’s up?_ ”  
  
Bucky shared a somewhat rueful smile with Steve. They both missed Sam.  
  
    “Just talkin’ about you.”  
  
    “ _Y’all ain’t got nothing better to do than gossip about me?_ ”  
  
    “It was all good, promise,” Steve said.  
  
    “ _Now I_ ** _know_** _you’re full of shit, because Barnes would never say something nice about me._ ”  
  
Bucky rolled his eyes. “I’m a goddamn angel, Sam.”  
  
    “ _Uh-huh._ ”  
  
    “I practically spoil you.”  
  
    “ _Leaving the room to fart is not ‘spoiling’ me, you shitheel._ ”  
  
Steve wasn’t able to repress a snort of laughter. Bucky looked sour.  
  
    “ _At least Rogers is disgustingly romantic. You’re just disgusting.”_  
  
    “And yet you’re dating me,” Bucky said smugly. Sam sighed into the phone.  
  
_“I have some regrets._ _Anyway, you old-timers okay? You get lost? I know they don’t have any nickelodeons as landmarks anymore…_ ”  
  
    “Charming as always, Sam. Buck and I were going to a baseball game in a couple of weeks… you coming?”  
  
    “ _When is it?_ ”  
  
Steve and Bucky exchanged looks. Sam usually said “no” outright to baseball.  
  
    “On a Sunday afternoon,” Bucky answered.  
  
    “ _Ahhh man, I have an appointment…_ ”  
  
    “Really?”  
  
    “ _Yeah. Says right here in my date book-- ‘Have all teeth removed.’”_  
  
    “What?”  
  
    “ _Yeah. 100% true._ ”  
  
    “...are you trying to say that you’d rather have all your teeth taken out than come to a baseball game?” Steve asked, cottoning on.  
  
    “ _Got it in one, Cap_.”  
  
    “You could’ve said ‘no,’ asshole,” Bucky said, half-laughing.  
  
    “ _I need y’all to know how much I_ ** _don’t_** _wanna watch baseball._ ”  
  
    “We’ll buy you lots of beer,” Steve wheedled.  
  
    “And pretzels,” Bucky added.  
  
    “... _and hot dogs?_ ” Sam asked, sounding only marginally less disinterested.  
  
    “Of course, Sam.” Steve was practically beaming.  
  
    “ _This is gonna suck_ ,” Sam almost whined.  
  
    “Nah, you’ll be with us,” Bucky said.  
  
    “... _this is_ ** _really_** _gonna suck._ ”

 

Steve spoke again, saying the words quickly: “Sam-did-you-know-that-Bucky-has-a-special-ringtone-for-y--”  
  
    “ _See you later, Sam,_ ” Bucky said loudly over Steve, hastily ending the call. “You’re such a punk, Rogers.” He couldn’t quite hide his smile.  
  
    “Yeah, yeah. Jerk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: All roads lead to Sam.
> 
> Two-parter, because I have forgotten the meaning of sleep.)


	15. if forever, we'll see... pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two sides a triangle do not make. Let's start drawing that last line.

It was a beautiful day, the sky an unbelievable blue almost completely unmarred by clouds, the air warm and the breeze refreshing.  
  
Sam was drunk off his ass.   
  
He’d immediately knocked back the first cold beer Steve had pressed into his hand, and had scarcely wasted any time getting hammered. By the sixth inning, Sam was almost interested in what was happening on the field.   
  
Kind of.  
  
Okay, not really.  
  
But he was in a splendid mood nonetheless.   
  
    “Another beer, Sam?” Steve asked, leaning across Bucky. Sam, halfway through biting through a huge soft pretzel, nodded. Bucky made a big show of rolling his eyes before getting up to go get more snacks and drinks, and… Sam realised he and Steve were alone.  
  
And he was drunk.  
  
And… maybe accidentally on a date with them.  
  
_I hate baseball goddammit_  
  
    “This is some weird shit,” he commented to Steve, who raised his eyebrows inquisitively.   
  
    “The game?” he asked. Sam shook his head and gestured between himself and Steve.  
  
    “Us. This is weird, man.”  
  
    “Oh… didn’t mean to make you uncomf--”  
  
    “Naaaaah I mean… I should feel weird, but I don’t. And it’s weird.”  
  
    “....it’s weird that it’s _not_ weird?”  
  
Bucky returned, flopping heavily in the seat between the two. Accepting his food from Bucky with the briefest of pecks on his cheek (drunk Sam was much more openly affectionate in public than sober Sam), Sam then leaned around Bucky and continued talking to Steve.  
  
    “Yeah, that. Weird that it’s not weird.”  
  
    “Sam, you’re… I have no idea what to do with you sometimes.”  
  
    “Shiiit, Rogers, you heard all that nasty talk from Barnes. You _wish_ you could do some shit with me, haaaaa.” Alcohol had clearly pounded the Ain’t Give A FUCK button in Sam’s brain. Steve blinked a few times before answering with a shrug and a half-grin. Bucky didn’t even react, beyond offering Sam a fresh beer.   
  
    “Bucky, your boyfriend is torturing me,” Steve muttered. Bucky looked almost proud.   
  
    “Team effort,” Bucky grinned. Steve sighed dramatically as Sam waggled his eyebrows at him and tucked into his second hot dog.

 

\---

 

Sam leaned against the door of Bucky’s room, his shirt only half-buttoned.  
  
    “Hey. Barnes.”  
  
Bucky and Sam had finally given up and admitted they were an actual couple, and Bucky had moved into Sam’s spare room a few weeks before. They’d only fought 12 times since then (none of them serious), and only one fight had led to Sam purposefully eating the rest of Bucky’s favourite peanut butter (Bucky had retaliated by ‘accidentally’ erasing Sam’s saved game.)  
  
    “You almost ready?” Bucky asked, carelessly pulling his hair into a bun as he sat on the edge of the bed. Sam shook his head.  
  
    “Hey… look. I’m not coming tonight.”  
  
Bucky frowned. “Why? Somethin’ wrong?”  
  
    “Nah, but… I think you guys should go on dates alone. Y’know?”  
  
    “You’re uncomfortable around Steve.”  
  
Sam thought. That wasn’t quite right. “No, not anymore. But we still don’t really know where we stand right now and… I dunno. Me ‘n you are together, you and him are together…”  
  
    “Feels unfinished,” Bucky said quietly. Sam shouldn’t have been surprised; beneath the sullen exterior, Bucky was perceptive about the strangest things.  
  
    “That’s not the word I would use,” Sam said carefully. “I’m gonna … I think me and Steve need to … do our own thing. Y’know? Like you and me did.”  
  
Bucky frowned a little. Sam stepped into the room and sat beside Bucky on the bed.  
  
    “I might be… okay with Steve. Like-- me-and-Steve… being a thing. Soon.” Bucky nodded, a small smile on his lips. He didn’t force the matter, knowing that it would push Sam away… but he’d been quietly hoping that Sam and Steve would find their way back to each other, somehow. Besides the slightly selfish reason that things would be a lot easier for him, Bucky knew that they could be good together. He could see how they missed each other, how they were almost yearning for something more than their light banter and friendship (he could also perfectly imagine the look of disgust on Sam’s face if Bucky said he was _yearning_ for Steve.)  
  
Sam sighed, watching Bucky use a hairpin to keep a stubborn lock of hair out of his eyes. “It’s tricky. We gotta see if it’s strong on its own. Like us. Like you two.”  
  
    “I get it. You wanna try being with him, but not in a group…”  
  
    “ …yet,” Sam added.   
  
    “You tell him? That you’re ready?”  
  
Sam made a noncommittal noise.  
  
    “Sam…”  
  
    “Don’t ‘Sam’ me, Barnes. You’re not my counsellor.” Sam scoffed and nudged Bucky’s leg with his own, before standing and making his way over to Bucky’s closet.  
  
    “Jesus, I’d be a fucking disaster of a counsellor.”  
  
    “You’d be surprised,” Sam said thoughtfully as he thumbed through hangers. “People who’ve been through some shit… they can understand better, sometimes.”  
  
Bucky stood and crossed over to Sam, wrapping his arms around him from behind. Sam hummed as Bucky kissed his neck, still intent on searching for something in the closet--  
  
    “Ah… okay. Down, Barnes. You have a date. Here.” Sam was holding out a blue tie, although he seemed caught between shooing Bucky out the door or dragging him back to his bedroom. He shook himself a little and held up the tie again.  
“Goes with your eyes.”  
  
    “Didn’t even know you noticed my eye colour,” Bucky grinned, taking the tie and gently pulling Sam into a kiss.  
  
    “Yeah,” Sam mumbled after he pulled away. “‘Cause you’re always fucking _staring at me,_ you creep.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: what's that on the horizon? is it... Samsteve? Awwwwwwww yeeeeeeeah. this is a short chapter, but I'm working on the next bit. it's not a Stucky date [like I said, I'm here for Sam], but it kicks our Samsteve ship into gear
> 
> yes good woohoo yay)


	16. oh, go with mr. right just for once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve cooks dinner. Bring on the Pepto-Bismol.

    “Door’s open!” Steve called, waving steam out of his face. Beside him, Bucky was frantically mopping up a spreading pool of water caused by the pot boiling over, wincing as the hot water stung the fingers of his human hand.  
  
Sam poked his head into the kitchen and immediately adopted a long-suffering, ‘Jesus give me strength’ expression.

    “What,” he said flatly, gesturing to the miniature disaster unfolding in front of him. Steve gave him a warning look that was only spoiled by him being unable to repress a smile at the sight of Sam.  
  
    “Not a _word_ , Sam,” Steve said. Sam scoffed.  
  
    “I’ve got _several_ words for this mess. Steve, you said dinner was a salad and roast chicken. How could you fuck that up?”  
  
Bucky threw a sopping dishtowel into the sink and turned down the heat on the troublesome pot, which was now emitting a worrying _fshhhhh_ sound as the water evaporated and whatever was inside started to burn.  
  
    “Yeah, _simple._ Tell me why this joker sees ...wossit…”  
  
    “Quinoa,” Steve mumbled.  
  
    “Right, _keen-waaaah_ , he sees it on TV and has to make some to impress you…”  
  
    “To impress _me_?” Sam repeated, trying not to laugh. Bucky rolled his eyes, gesturing to the steadily pinkening Steve.  
  
    “Who else? I don’t give a fuck what I eat, _you’re_ the food snob.”  
  
Sam walked by them to grab a beer from the fridge, only pausing to flick Bucky’s ear.  
“Just because I don’t think 7-11 hot dogs are the second coming of Christ doesn’t make me a food snob, Barnes.”  
  
    “ _You_ don’t like my cooking either,” Steve grumbled at Bucky as he checked on the chicken (it was overdone and underseasoned, but he won’t know that until Sam tells him later.)  
  
    “True,” Bucky allowed, rubbing at his ear and glaring playfully at Sam. “Guess that means you’re a _really. Bad. Cook._ ”  
  
    “Yeah, yeah. Dish the salad, Buck.”  
  
Bucky sauntered over to Sam, who immediately moved his beer out of reach (he knew Bucky too well). The slightly taller man merely leaned in for a kiss, pressing Sam against the fridge and trailing one hand down Sam’s side…  
  
And then he walked away, taking a triumphant gulp of the beer that he’d craftily stolen right out of Sam’s hand while he was distracted. _Goddammit. Every fuckin’ time._  
  
    “Why don’t you ever get your _own_ damn beer?” Sam sighed, opening the fridge and retrieving two more; one for himself and one for Steve.  
  
    “It’s not Bucky unless he’s being a jerk,” Steve offered, using tongs to move portions of chicken to their waiting plates (some pieces _clink_ ed when they came into contact with the ceramic, which worried Sam more than a little.)  
  
    “Dunno, I seem to be a jerk with _two_ boyfriends, so…” Bucky grinned as he heaped salad into three bowls. Sam hid a smile as Bucky drenched his and Steve’s salads in dressing, but put a small amount in a tiny bowl for Sam, remembering how Sam liked his food. _That’s why we’re with you. Because you’re a jerk that puts salad dressing on the side._  
  
  
\---  
 

    “Did you go to that interview?” Sam asked, gamely trying to cut off the driest parts of his chicken. Bucky nodded, holding up a hand as he chewed. And chewed. And chewed. Sam tried hard not to laugh. _This chicken is dry as fuck.  
  
_ Steve looked less than pleased at his dinner efforts; his palate had been slowly changing to fit modern sensibilities, and with it came the realization that he was a _terrible_ cook. His meals had sufficed for him and Bucky back in the day, but in an age where cilantro was cheap and there were thousands of cookbooks and even more free recipe websites and blogs… it wasn’t cutting it.  
  
Bucky finally finished, taking a swig of beer to wash down the troublesome chicken.  
“Yeah. Interview was good. They liked my arm.” He shrugged as though that meant nothing to him, but both Steve and Sam knew otherwise; he was excited in that low-key ‘Bucky’ way.  
  
    “Tell him the rest, Buck,” Steve said, grinning. Sam gave up on the chicken and concentrated on the salad. At least Steve couldn’t fuck that up.  
  
Bucky wasn’t able to hide his pride. “Got the job. Startin’ next month.”  
  
Sam paused in the act of stabbing a cherry tomato.  
“Barnes! You did? Congrats, man. Really.” Sam smiled, feeling a little bit silly about how proud he felt of Bucky; but then, it had taken the combined efforts of Steve and Sam encouraging him to go job-hunting.

Bucky had tried a few retail positions, even a handful of office jobs… but he looked uncomfortable (if handsome) in a suit, and more than one interviewer had looked nervously at his metal hand (which had of course made him shut down.)

His last interview had been at a vintage car/motorcycle repair shop. On a hunch, Bucky had worn what he damn well wanted: full black, with a sleeveless tank top to show off the metal arm, combat boots, and his hair out and messy as he pleased (well, artfully tousled, but they all pretended not to notice how much time Bucky spent on his hair.) Steve had been skeptical about looking so casual for a job interview, but apparently that had been exactly the look that suited the place.  
  
    “Thanks,” Bucky replied. He half-smiled, trying hard for nonchalance as he said “My boss-- Yusuke-- said we had a lotta rich clients. Should be able to make some money. Help with rent… stop bein’ a trophy husband.” Sam snorted, almost choking on a mouthful of lettuce as Steve rolled his eyes.  
  
    “Buck, I _told_ you it’s okay. I’ve got plenty savings from--”  
  
    “Yeah. But. Independence, y’know?”  
  
    “Doesn’t wanna ask you for pocket money if he wants to buy a _nudey mag_ , Steve,” Sam chuckled, catching Bucky’s eye.  
  
    “Who needs a fuckin’ porno mag?” Bucky drawled, gesturing with his beer to the other two. Steve raised his eyebrows and shared a look with Sam.  
  
    “Might get me an old-ass bike if the mechanic looks like _that,_ ” Sam muttered. Bucky grinned as Steve laughed appreciatively.  
  
    “There’s a difference between _old_ and _vintage,_ Sam,” Steve said. Sam just shook his head.  
  
    “ … says the old-ass man…”  
  
    “This ‘old-ass’ man still laps you every time we run together.”  
  
    “Oh _fuck you_ , Steve,” Sam said over Bucky’s raucous laughter.

  
\---  
 

    “Really? When?” Steve didn’t even try to keep the excitement out of his voice (he knew and accepted that he was Not Cool, so he didn’t care about sounding Not Cool in front of his friends.)  
  
    “I dunno, when’s your next session?” Sam asked, shifting slightly. Sam, Steve and Bucky had picked the lock on the door leading to the roof; Steve justified it by saying that enjoying the sunset from the roof of an apartment building he was partially paying for was his right. _Sure, Cap. Sure._  
  
Sam and Steve had settled side-by-side on the still-warm concrete, and Bucky had wasted no time in draping himself across them both like an unbelievably heavy cat.  
  
    “My next session…? I think it’s in a couple days,” Steve said thoughtfully.  
  
Bucky’s voice was sleepy and muffled from his face being half-hidden in Sam’s lap. “You _know_ it’s in 2 days. You have it in your stupid calendar app. Stop tryin' to be cool.” Steve scowled and pinched Bucky’s butt, making him flinch a little.  
  
    “I might be able to make it in two days,” Sam nodded, idly running his fingers through Bucky’s hair as he often did in their quiet moments together.  
  
    “And  _you_ know you got the day off in two days, so now _you’re_ tryin’ to act cool,” Bucky mumbled to Sam. Sam responded with a light flick to Bucky’s ear again, eliciting a slightly outraged “Heeeey” from him. Sam shared a somewhat embarrassed grin with Steve; Bucky had pretty accurately called them out on trying to act nonchalant about Sam joining Steve and Bucky for a therapy session. It _was_ a pretty big deal.  
  
    “So… Sam… does this mean--”  
  
    “Means he wants to go out with you now,” Bucky interrupted, ignoring the light slap on the arm that he earned from Sam.  
  
    “Barnes, you sleepin’ or you butting into grown folks’ business?” Sam sighed. Bucky shrugged and snuggled closer to the other two men.  
  
    “Both. Multitasking.”  
  
Sam ignored him and looked at Steve again, who was utterly failing at not looking  excited.  
  
    “Well… shit. Barnes called me out, so-- okay. Yeah. I might be in,” Sam said, drumming his fingers on Bucky’s back (he got a pleased-sounding mumble in return.) Steve cleared his throat and set down his half-empty beer bottle.  
  
    “Sam… that’s great.” Steve paused briefly. “Damn. Better than _great_ , I mean…”  
  
    “It’s not a promise or anything,” Sam said quietly. Steve nodded, chewing lightly at his lower lip.  
  
    “Yeah-- no, I know. I’m just… well, damn, I’m just so over the m--” Steve broke off, seeing the huge grin on Sam’s face.  
  
    “ _Over the moon_ , Steve?”  
  
    “Ah, damn. I knew I’d slip up sooner or later. Let me guess, you’re--”  
  
    “Never, _ever_ gonna let that go? Yup.”  
  
Steve laughed and shook his head, reaching down for his beer again. From somewhere around Sam’s legs, Bucky’s sleepy voice intoned, “Nerd.”  
  
Sam just snorted and then fell quiet, his mind churning. He’d said the words (kinda) and… well, shit, he really did miss Steve. The nerves he was feeling now were only natural, considering their _last_ attempt at dating.  
  
Bucky soon fell into a real doze, his weight making Sam’s legs fall asleep. The sunset they’d come to watch was marred by storm clouds rolling in, and the resulting air pressure was bringing on a mild headache. Someone nearby was burning garbage.

But all Sam could concentrate on was how close his hand was to Steve’s on the concrete rooftop… he could feel the heat radiating off Steve’s body. He knew Steve wouldn’t make the first move just yet-- he was too cautious for that nowadays.  
  
Sam nudged Steve’s hand with his own, gently enough so that they could both ignore it… but not a second passed before a large, too-warm hand closed over his. Their glance was brief and full of ~~longing~~ _something_ …  They watched the storm clouds come closer, hand in hand, with Bucky sleeping soundly across their laps. As dramatic as it seemed, the weather seemed to reflect Sam’s feelings; something big was about to happen, and it would be either full of beauty or disaster.  
  
Steve squeezed his hand lightly and Sam risked glancing over at him. The look in Steve’s blue eyes made Sam feel like maybe he could weather the storm.  
  
_Christ, Sam, just get an acoustic guitar already._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: Legolas! What do your elf-eyes see? Is it another chapter? A multi-chapter update?
> 
> It IS?? And Samsteve starts happening? Wow cool neato
> 
> \-----> next chapter! Featuring Feels Talk(tm): Talking About Ya Feels In A Healthy Environment.)


	17. no more guessing for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to talk it out, boys.

_“G, are you there?”_  
  
    “Yes, I’m here,” Steve said, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. He had his phone in his hands, his fingers nervously tracing its flat, rectangular shape. Sam sat across from him, leaning back in an office chair, and beside him sat Bucky, who was slumped almost boredly in his own seat.  
  
_“And I understand your companions are joining us today?”_ The therapist was a calm yet cheerful woman who favoured pastel cardigans, a single strand of small pearls, and an elegant updo. Her desk was pleasantly chaotic, with an impressive array of tiny potted cacti taking up a significant amount of space.  
  
    “Hello, Dr. Yeun,” Sam said pleasantly.  
  
_“Hello! And this is…?”_  
  
    “Call me ‘T,’” Sam answered. T for “Thomas,” his middle name. Dr. Yeun smiled and jotted something on a notepad.  
  
_“Nice to meet you, T. Are you well today?”_  
  
    “Not gonna lie… little bit nervous about all this,” Sam laughed slightly. He’d had to work hard to convince himself not to bail, his nerves almost getting the best of him several times since he’d agreed to come to the session.  
  
    “ _You’re_ nervous?” Steve muttered. Sam made a face at him.  
  
_“It’s a big day, G. Everyone has a bit of nerves, I imagine.”_ Dr. Yeun was looking into her camera, although she couldn’t see them.  
_“And our last guest is…?”_  
  
    “J.” Bucky’s answer was short, a little clipped. He used ‘J’ for “James,” the first name that hardly anyone really used. Dr. Yeun didn’t seem put off by the tone; she’d had several sessions with him and Steve before and was used to him.  
  
_“Ah, J! Thanks for joining us again. Now… shall we get started? T, what’s your reason for joining us today?”_  
  
Sam sat up a little, surprised. He hadn’t expected to talk first… he glanced at Steve, who nodded encouragingly.  
  
    “Uh… well, guess I wanted to see what the deal was.”  
  
_“The deal regarding…?”_  
  
    “Me and … G. And J.”  
  
_“I see. T, I understand there was a sort of… incident between you and G some time ago. Can we talk about that?”_  
  
Sam looked momentarily distressed. Bucky reached over and rubbed his shoulder.

    “It’s okay. She’s good.”  
  
Dr. Yeun didn’t respond aloud to Bucky’s almost-compliment, only smiling slightly.  
  
    “It’s okay, Sam,” Steve said quietly. “You can say anything here.”  
  
Sam took a steadying breath. He hadn’t expected to delve into his and Steve’s falling out so early in the session. But it had been so long ago now… maybe it was time to get it out.  
  
    “ Okay. Uh… I gotta say, I didn’t really dig being blindsided, y’know? St-- uh, _G_ asked me out … and I felt _good_ … and then he just brings up him and J outta the blue. It was a lot. Didn’t make me feel great. Didn’t bring out the best in me, either.” He spoke to Dr. Yeun, but his eyes were on Steve. Steve didn’t look away, nodding slowly.  
  
Sam continued, “It’s hard being-- doing what I do.” He’d almost said ‘being an Avenger.’ _Oops._ “These guys… they’re good at their jobs. _Real_ good. I gotta work twice as hard to keep up. And sometimes… it’s just-- it makes me feel like _the sidekick_ , y’know?” He couldn’t exactly come out and say ‘They’re superpowered and I’m not,’ but it was as close as he could get without blowing their cover.  
  
Dr. Yeun nodded. _“Go on, T,”_ she encouraged gently.    
  
    “So… just made me feel like I didn’t matter. Again.” Sam felt his throat getting a little tight, but he kept his voice steady. Steve breathed out slowly, letting the pain behind Sam’s words sink in. Bucky’s hand was still on Sam’s shoulder, and he squeezed lightly.  
  
_“That sounds like a painful experience, T,”_ Dr. Yeun said softly. Sam shrugged, forgetting momentarily that she couldn’t see him.  
_“T, can you address G directly for me?”_  
  
    “Uh… okay…?”  
  
_“I’d like you to tell him how you feel right now. Can you do that? I know it might be a little bit difficult, but you’re doing really well so far. I think G needs to hear from you directly.”_  
  
Steve turned towards Sam, nodding.  
  
_Shit. I’m feeling a whole lot that I don’t wanna talk about right now._ But if anyone knew that it was important to talk about the ugly thoughts , the confusion and misdirected anger churning inside, it was Sam.  
  
    “A little bit angry. Pretty fucked up. Man-- okay. Okay. Look… I’ve had some good relationships, y’know? But Riley…” Sam felt his voice break and hated himself immediately for it. _Oh here we go, Wilson. Fuckin’ crying about Riley again._  
“Riley made me feel like I was _everything_ . J makes me feel … like he did. Good. Really fucking good. And I can’t-- I’m _not gonna_ settle for less. Not anymore.” He felt a hand take his and looked up to see that Steve had moved his chair closer and had reached out for Sam, his own face mirroring Sam’s repressed anguish. Bucky completed the sad little triangle, slipping his own hand into Sam’s other hand, resting his left hand on Steve’s shoulder.  
  
_Kumbah-fucking-yah._ The image of how pathetic they must look was the only thing keeping Sam from breaking down and he seized upon it, squeezing Steve and Bucky’s hands to centre himself.  
  
_“Thank you, T. You did great.”_ Dr. Yeun looked sympathetic, her hands folded on her desk.  
_“T, would it be okay if G speaks now?”_  
  
    “Yeah…”  
  
Steve straightened, not letting go of Sam’s hand. He locked eyes with him as he steeled himself.  
“T…” he started, pausing as his mind desperately sought the right words. “T. I’m _sorry_ . I didn’t think-- I just wanted, and I acted impulsively. I wanted _you_ . I wanted you so badly I just rushed in and kinda hoped I could… wing it.”  
  
    “Yeah, you kinda do that,” Sam remarked dryly. Steve looked slightly pained as Bucky scoffed in agreement.  
  
    “I know you felt like an… an afterthought,” Steve said quietly. Something veiled passed across Sam’s face, quickly gone. A flicker of hurt. “You’re _not._ You never could be. I count myself as damn lucky because… because I know you’ve got my back. And I’ve got yours. I never wanted to mess that up… I just didn’t know how to-- I made a mess of things. You deserve better.”  
  
Steve’s expression turned somewhat bitter as he continued. “J said… he said I got arrogant. Too used to people looking up to me. Doing what I want. I didn’t… I didn’t even think--” He broke off, disgusted with himself.  
  
Bucky’s facial expression didn’t change much, but he moved his hand from Steve’s shoulder and grabbed his hand. The sessions hashing out _their_ issues had been pretty intense. Lots of shouting. One chair kicked over. Dr. Yeun had kept cool the whole time, guiding them through them expressing the things they’d kept bottled up. It’d been difficult, agonising, and utterly necessary.  
  
_“G, don’t discredit your progress,”_ Dr. Yeun chided gently.   
  
Steve heaved a sigh. Addressing Sam again, he finished, “I’m hoping for a chance to _give_ you better. I don’t want to throw away what we have. Whatever we have.”

  
There was an uncomfortably long pause.  
  
    “Yeah, your speeches when the whole world’s about to go to hell? Way better,” Sam commented mildly. Steve huffed out a slightly embarrassed laugh.

Dr. Yeun was quiet during the exchange, her pleasant smile never quite leaving her face. Although she could never say so, she enjoyed the banter between the three men and it was sometimes a struggle to maintain her professional exterior and not laugh.  
  
_“Thank you, G. J, would you like to speak?”_  
  
The woman waited patiently as Bucky frowned.  
  
    “Uh. G. Already told you but. You were _dumb as hell_.”  
  
Sam squeezed Steve’s hand again, even as he muttered “No lies.” Steve stoically nodded, clearly prepared to receive the brunt of some pretty well-deserved anger.  
  
    “If you can’t treat. If…” Bucky was shutting down, struggling to get the words out. Sam looked over and saw that Bucky’s eyes were downcast and he was frowning hard. His inability to say exactly what he meant had been a rough adjustment; he had once been the fast talker, the man with a silver tongue.  
  
Sam lifted their entwined hands and lightly pressed his lips to Bucky’s hand. Steve looked worried, gently loosening his hand from Bucky’s grip and touching his face. Bucky blinked and seemed to come back to himself, his brow unfurling a little.    
  
_“Would you like us to come back to you later, J?”_ Dr. Yeun asked softly.  
  
    “No. G… if you can’t treat us _both_ like we hung the fuckin’ moon, then it’s. It’s not gonna work.” Sam almost smiled at the old-fashioned expression, but he was mostly focused on Steve’s face. He hadn’t flinched in the slightest at Bucky’s ultimatum that it was either him _and_ Sam or nothing, instead looking resolute. Determined.  
  
_“Thank you, J. Would it be okay for G to respond?”_  
  
    “Mm.”  
  
    “J, you’re right. And I … I want to try. If you’ll both let me. I know I’m not perfect--”  
  
Bucky silently interrupted by signing something, and Steve watched his hands, nodding slowly.  
  
    “We don’t want perfect,” Sam repeated, more for Dr. Yeun’s benefit than anything else.  
  
    “Ah… yeah. I guess perfect would be pretty annoying,” Steve conceded, almost smiling. “But… I know I’ve got issues. I’ve been in control so long-- I had to make so many huge decisions in a split second. I just… can’t live my _personal_ life that way. I don’t always know what’s best.”  
  
Sam was quiet, but he nodded slowly. Steve and Dr. Yeun had been meeting twice weekly for quite some time now, and it showed.  
  
    “No, you sure as hell _don’t_ always know what’s best. Ask the espresso machine.” Bucky muttered the words under his breath, but not quietly enough that Dr. Yeun didn’t hear him.  
  
The three of them laughed, Steve groaning into his hands halfway through. In a bid to stop them teasing his horrible coffee-making skills, Steve had purchased a fancy espresso machine. It didn’t even survive a week.  
  
Dr. Yeun was smiling as well (she’d heard stories of Steve’s lack of cooking prowess), but she gently reminded them to refocus.  
  
Sam spoke up. “You think this could actually work? Three of us?” He thought it just might. He _wanted_ it to. He and Bucky seemed to work, against all odds. Steve and Bucky had worked things out. Himself and Steve? Him, Steve _and_ Bucky?  
  
Bucky mulled it over silently for a little while. “Yeah. I do.” He looked from Sam to Steve and back again, relaxing slightly in his chair.  
  
    “I’ll fight harder for this than I did against the Skrull invasion last year,” Steve grinned. He suddenly blanched, realising that he’d referred to Avengers business in front of the therapist.  
  
    “Steve, you’re not supposed to-- shit! G, I mean… shit. _Shit!_ ”  
  
Dr. Yeun glanced off-camera and pressed a small button that had gone unnoticed by the three men.

 _“It’s all right, Captain Rogers. I’ve stopped recording right now, so you can speak freely. And… I’ve known who you were since our first session,”_ Dr. Yeun said calmly. She suddenly smiled. _“I recognised your voice from my grandma’s old newsreels. She was a big fan of yours. Apparently…”_  
  
Dr. Yeun tilted her head, her smile becoming nostalgic, a little shy. _“According to my nana… when I was small, I used to recite some of your little phrases. ‘Go get ‘em, boys!’ or there was another one -- a grenade landed nearby and you picked it up and said… you said… ah! You said something like “Well, I don’t see an address--”_  
  
    “--’I don’t see an address written down, but this one’s marked ‘return to sender’?” Steve recited along with her, his cheeks as pink as they’ve ever been. The gang had loved that one, repeating it for weeks after the incident. Steve hadn’t even known that some brave soul had recorded the moment until he saw it for himself in an exhibit.  
  
    “ _Yes! And then you threw it back to the enemy. My brothers loved that… they’d pay ‘Cap and Bucky’ all the time. But_ **_my_ ** _kids fight over who gets to be Iron Man and who gets to be the Falcon…_ ” Dr. Yeun shook herself a little before clearing her throat, clearly a little embarrassed for breaking her professionalism in order to basically gush about the Avengers.  
“ _Ahm… now, shall we continue?_ **_With_ ** _our aliases intact?”_  
  
Steve was trying to avoid looking at the others, knowing that Sam would be giving him a greatly unimpressed look and Bucky would be making a face (he’d swiftly grown tired of the other Howling Commandos et al. repeating the damn phrase so much.) Steve settled instead of grinning awkwardly at his hands.  
  
  
Mentally filing away the therapist’s story for later torturing Steve, Sam blew a puff of air through his lips before reaching a decision. “Okay, well… I think I’m maybe open. To this… whatever it is,” he continued.

_God help me, I want in on this mess._

“But this? It’s gotta be totally transparent. Equal. No winner and runner-up.” He let some of his anger sink into the final words, reminding Bucky of their confrontation at the beach and the poorly-hidden hurt in Sam’s voice. He didn’t want to be second-best to anyone. And he wouldn’t be; not if Bucky had anything to do with it.  
  
    “ _G, how do you feel about that?”_  
  
    “I agree. Transparency. Honesty. Equality."  
  
    “Fire. Heart,” Sam said under his breath. Steve didn’t know it was a Captain Planet reference, but he knew it was a reference to _some_ thing, so he made a half-joking face of disapproval at Sam.  
  
    “Yeah. If we have that. I’m in,” Bucky agreed quietly.  
  
_“That’s good to hear. It sounds like you’re on the same page. Now… I have some feedback.”_

\---

The screen went black as Dr. Yeun took her leave; it was a few weeks later, and they had just finished their fifth group session. The atmosphere was strange. They’d just laid out a lot of heavy emotional stuff, but without the calming presence of Dr. Yeun it was now a little awkward.  
  
She had just told them that she thought they might be ready to move ahead.  
  
    “So. What now?” Bucky asked, breaking the silence. Steve looked at Sam.  
  
    “I’m hoping to get started trying to make it up,” he said. “Do this the right way. If… if you’ll let me, Sam.” _I just don’t know where to start._  
  
Sam stared at him for a long, long time. Finally, he nodded.  
“Two strikes and you’re out, Rogers.” _This is your last chance._  
  
    “That’s not how baseball works, Sam.”  
  
    “This ain’t baseball, man.”  
  
    “Oh… Touché. Well… uh…”  
  
    “Fuckin’ christ. Start by askin' him out to dinner,” Bucky snapped, staring incredulously at Steve. Sam bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing and folded his arms, waiting.  
  
    “Oh. Yes… Sam… would you join me for dinner?” Steve asked stiffly, his cheeks already aflame.  
  
    “Certainly. It would be most pleasant to converse with you over supper,” Sam replied seriously, mocking Steve’s overly formal tone. He grinned, nudging Bucky with his shoulder.  
“The man would be a wreck without us, Barnes. Sad.”  
  
    “Pathetic,” Bucky said, shaking his head. Steve looked miffed.  
  
    “I’m _right here_ , you jerks.”  
  
Both Sam and Bucky looked at him briefly before shrugging simultaneously.  
  
    “You’re the size of a 2-tonne boulder, Steve. We know when you’re here,” Sam said dryly. Steve scowled.  
  
    “You two ever gonna stop teaming up against me?” he sighed.  
  
    “Not if you keep making it so damn _easy_. So where you takin’ him for dinner?” Bucky asked, companionably slinging his arms around Steve and Sam’s shoulders. “He doesn’t like French food so much, unless it’s Cajun… he’s crazy about Japanese food… don’t bother to choose a cafe ‘cause he knows the best ones already… oh, he _hates_ white wine. Think it gives him a headache, so--”  
  
    “Barnes, how do you know this shit? You fuckin’ creep?” Sam interrupted, genuinely surprised.  
  
    “Pretty sure boyfriends are supposed to know this stuff. Unless _that’s_ changed in the last coupla decades too,” Bucky said easily. Sam rolled his eyes, secretly pleased that Bucky noticed so much about him. He still wasn’t quite used to receiving that level of attention from someone that wasn’t Riley or Anaya. _  
_  
    “Barnes, don’t overwhelm the guy,” he said. “Steve, just… somewhere that’s not McDonald’s. I’m not as picky as that asshole is making me sound.”  
  
    “I just wanna get this right,” Steve said, sighing. “I want to make sure to… to… ” he seemed to be searching for the right words.  
  
    “As long as you don’t say you wanna ‘woo’ me, it’s fine,” Sam muttered.  
  
Steve grinned sheepishly. “Don’t get mad, but I was actually gonna say ‘woo.’”  
  
    _“What is with people and that word?!”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: CAPTAIN FALCON. SAMSTEVE. It's a thing! Are you prepared for the Wooing of Samuel? Proceed to the next chapter with much haste.
> 
> Verily.
> 
> \----> )


	18. i saw her love gauge running low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's being wooed. 
> 
> Seriously, what even is that word.

Steve straightened his shirt cuffs yet again, trying not to be too obvious in how often he looked up when someone walked by his table. He had chosen a small, intimate restaurant for his first proper date with Sam, and he felt like he was going to throw up from nerves. _Two strikes and you’re out, Rogers.  
  
_     “You look fine, Steve. You look good,” Bucky had said reassuringly, kissing Steve before he left to meet Sam. It was true; Steve had gone with his classic look; hair slightly slicked back and parted at the side, a simple yet flattering light blue button-up shirt and dark jeans.   
  
Steve worked on thinking calming thoughts, knowing that when he got flustered, he got _stupid_ . He couldn’t afford to fuck up again. He focused on the decor of the restaurant, noting with interest the dark, minimalist feel of the place, his eyes tracing the interplay of sharp lines and perfect circles of some of the nearby centrepieces. He started to feel a little better…  
  
At least until Sam walked in.  
  
Sam was wearing a sleek, wine-coloured shirt that complimented his dark brown skin. His closely-cropped hair and beard were neatly trimmed (“I only trust one barber in this damn city to do my line-up right,” he’d told Steve once. Steve had no clue what he’d been talking about.) The low candlelight of the restaurant made his skin glow warmly.

Sam moved with an easy grace, bending his head to speak to the maître d’ and flashing a quick smile when he spotted Steve seated at a small table near the back.   
  
Steve immediately stiffened slightly and began fidgeting with his cutlery. He stood as Sam approached the table, and Sam had to work hard to keep from laughing. _So old-fashioned._   
  
    “You gonna pull my chair out?” he quipped, breaking the tense silence. Steve moved toward him, but Sam waved him off, laughing a little.   
“I’m joking. Sit, for god’s sake.”   
  
Steve was going pink in the cheeks already. _How does he get that under control for work?_ Sam wondered wryly. After all, it’s not like anyone ever saw ‘Captain America’ blushing. If they had, the Internet would be all over it with posts and fan art. They had...weirdly dedicated fans, the Avengers.   
  
    “Sam. How’ve you been?” Steve said, far too formal yet again.   
  
    “Quite well, Captain Rogers, and yourself?” Sam returned mockingly. “I trust you’re hale and hearty?”     
  
    “Ah, geez. Sorry,” Steve laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “When I’m nervous I get kinda…”   
  
    “Captain America-y,” Sam finished, shaking his head. Steve grinned and signalled subtly to their server, who bustled over with an opened bottle of red wine. Sam, spying the label, let out a low whistle. The candlelight threw warm shivering light across his face, highlighting his cheekbones, his lips, his dark eyes. Steve desperately wanted his sketchbook, especially when Sam smiled right at him, the little gap between his front teeth as endearing today as it had been the first time Steve had seen it (and felt the first panicked stirrings of a crush.)  
  
Sam briefly watched the waiter carefully pour their wine before looking back at Steve. “Don’t be nervous, man. You’re not off to not a bad start. Barnes give you tips about the wine?”   
  
    “Actually, no,” Steve said, smiling a little. “I noticed you ordered pinot noir a lot when we used to go out together.”   
  
    “Points to you, then,” Sam smiled as the server politely took his leave.   
  
    “It’s not about points,” Steve said. Sam looked inquisitive. “There’s so much I like about you that I want to show you.”   
  
Sam’s cheeks felt warm; he was grateful Steve couldn’t see.   
  
    “That’s one of them,” Steve said fondly, looking at Sam.   
  
    “What’s one of them?”   
  
    “The way you blush when we compliment you--”   
  
    “--I _don’t fucking blush_ \--”   
  
    “--and how I know you’ll deny it,” Steve finished, grinning. Although Steve couldn’t see the physical effect of Sam’s blush in the low lighting of the restaurant, he was intimately familiar with the tiny, shy smile and the glance off to the side that always accompanied it. Sam didn’t even know he did it, and it made Steve feel on top of the world every time he got to see it.  
  
Sam sipped his wine and hummed appreciatively at the taste, avoiding having to reply. _Dammit. So he knew every time I got fucked up over him. DAMMIT.  
_   
Steve seemed content to just look at him, taking him in.   
“You look nice tonight, Sam.”   
  
Sam’s face heated up even more. Steve smiled knowingly.   
  
    “Okay. Maybe I get a little warm in the face sometimes. A _little_ . Tell anyone and you’re _dead_ , though.”   
  
Steve held up his hands in surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

\---

 

Steve walked Sam home, despite Sam’s very half-hearted insistence that he didn’t need him to. At Sam’s lobby door, Steve stopped, intending to see Sam inside safely and then head home.  
  
Sam paused by the door. _Should I invite him up…?_ He looked at Steve, who was leaning easily against the glass wall of the lobby, his thumbs resting on his belt buckle as he looked up at the night sky. Like so many other times, a casual stance from Steve Rogers looked like a goddamn oil painting.   
  
_Can’t invite him up. Not yet. I want to._ **_Damn_ ** _, I want to._   
  
    “Steve.”   
  
    “Yes, Sam?”   
  
    “Hey… thanks. For tonight. It was good.”

 _More than just good._ Their conversation had been a little stilted at first, but once Sam got some good wine in him and Steve relaxed, they’d fallen into their old habits pretty easily and they chatted freely for hours.

Steve had accidentally chosen a dessert Sam had hated, and Sam had innocently (no, really) recommended an entree that made Steve tear up and cough violently from the spiciness. It had been like old times, but with a newness that came with knowing that this wasn’t just a friendly outing. This was a second chance.  
  
    “Thank _you_ , Sam. It was incredible. _You’re_ incredible.”  
  
Sam mumbled nonsensically, pretending to look for his keys as he tried to hide the fact that--  
  
    “And you’re blushing again,” Steve smirked. Sam groaned. _I gotta learn how to control this shit.  
  
_ Sam beckoned to Steve, who moved closer and waited, an expression of curiosity on his face.   
  
    “Okay… so this was… yeah. Let’s do it again.” Sam tried for casual. He wasn’t sure if he quite got there. Steve smiled slightly.   
  
    “I’d like that, Sam.” _Oh no. Here it is. That feeling right before you kiss someone for the first time_  
  
Steve’s eyes searched Sam’s face, mutely asking the question he didn’t dare say aloud just yet.  
  
Sam gave the smallest of nods and Steve leaned in, kissing him gently on the lips. It was a chaste little peck; Steve was being the perfect gentleman. The lack of tongue and groping didn’t stop Sam’s heart from pounding, though.  
  
    “I’ll call you,” Steve said softly.   
  
Sam cleared his throat. “Okay,” he replied. “I get to choose the restaurant next time.” _I want to--_ ** _down,_** _Wilson. Take it easy.  
  
_     “The one tonight was no good?”  
  
    “Nah, it was good. I just like bein’ bossy,” Sam grinned. The look on Steve’s face pulled him up short. There it was. He hadn’t been on the receiving end of that look in months. A small smirk on his lips, his eyebrow cocked _just so._ Steve was generally a huge dork, but he had his moments… Sam’s pulse picked up a little.  
  
    “You like being bossy?” Steve asked, his voice perfectly friendly despite his rather salacious facial expression.   
  
    “Yeah… sometimes.” Before he could stop himself, Sam blurted “I’m pretty flexible, though.” _Yes, Sam, why don’t you just do a fucking strip tease for the guy?_ He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped to god the earth would swallow him whole. Steve mercifully refrained from teasing him… much.  
  
    “I’ll add that to the list,” he said in a low voice. “Good night, Sam.”  
  
Sam lightly banged his head against the elevator wall the whole way up to his apartment.

 

\---

 

In the morning, Sam’s 73rd pushup was interrupted by the doorbell. He stretched his aching arms as he got up to answer the door, taking a moment to turn down his workout music (Bucky’s latest contribution to his iPod.) He’d been working out harder and longer than usual today, trying to work off his Steve-based sexual frustration, and his sore muscles protested as he reached for the door handle.  
  
“Package for a… a Mr. Samiad Walton?”   
  
“Uh… Samuel Wilson?”   
  
The man squinted hard at his sloppy handwriting. “Ah, sorry. Wilson. Please sign here.” He held out a clipboard. _I didn’t order anything._   
  
“Where you want this?” the man was now struggling to carry a box through Sam’s door.   
  
Mutely, Sam pointed to the living room. _Probably shouldn’t be accepting strange packages._   
  
After the man left, Sam carefully slit open the tape on the box. Nothing sprang out or exploded, so he gingerly opened the top of the box. Inside was a near mint-condition, vintage record player. _What the--_   
  
He saw a small, neatly handwritten note. “ _Sam, this reminded me of you… -Steve._ ” His eyes travelled over the undoubtedly expensive gift. Carefully tucked in the box was a smaller box, surprisingly heavy when Sam lifted it out. This contained at least two dozen vinyl records, all of them artists that Sam liked; Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, Al Green…   
  
There was a note here, too. In cramped handwriting, it simply said “ _from B._ ”   


 

  
Steve and Bucky’s phones buzzed within seconds of each other. Bucky raised his head slightly off Steve’s chest, where he’d been half-asleep, half-reading a book.   
  
_SAM W.: recrd plyr reminded u of me?_ _  
_ _  
_ _B.: because ur both rly old. [smiley face]_ _  
_ _  
_ _ROGERS: Don’t be a dick, Bucky. And Sam-- because you wanted a record player and this model went with your apartment’s furniture the best._ _  
_ _  
_ _SAM W.: its p. great. Thx. n bucky fuk off ur both 100 years old_ _  
_ _  
_ _ROGERS: Well… if you wanted to get technical, you ARE older than us._ _  
_ _  
_ _B.: ya technically im only like 35_ _  
_ _  
_ _SAM W.: technically u can both kiss my ass_ _  
_ _  
_ _B.: we have 2 take turns?_ _  
_ _  
_ _ROGERS: I’m still on a probationary period, but I’m in._ _  
_ _  
_ _SAM W.: [middle finger emoji]_   
  
\---

 

A few days later, an [orchid plant](http://www.angelorchidsgallery.com/Cymbidium%20Gallery/slides/Cym.%20Little%20Bighorn%20'Warhorse'%20S_CSA%20\(2\).JPG)  with spring-green flowers was delivered to his door, along with a letter from his gym informing him that he’d been upgraded to the Unlimited Super Mega Platinum Membership. He was glad Steve wasn’t around to see him as he stared at the potted plant, flustered and _fucking blushing_ **_again_ ** ; he’d mentioned _once_ that his favourite flowers were orchids, and green was one of his preferred colours. _Rogers is going all out_ . He couldn’t help but feel a little bit flattered that even such an innocuous comment had been remembered by Steve.   
  
His snapchat picture was of him holding the plant, one eyebrow raised. _“laying it on thick [eyeroll emoji, blowing a raspberry emoji]”_   
  
Bucky sent a snap video. Steve, grinning, said “I’m an old-fashioned romantic, sue me.”   
  
Off-camera, Bucky said “ _I’m_ not.”   
  
Steve looked unimpressed. “We know, Buck. We know.”   


\---  
  
More records arrived the next week.  
  
Impossible-to-get tickets to basketball and rugby games. (Two pairs each time; one for himself and one for Anaya.)  
  
Once, Sam came home to find 4 pizzas from his favourite Italian restaurant in front of his door.   
  
    “Your strategy is to try to kill me with heart disease?” Sam laughed in his response video. The caption said “ _thx [pizza slice emoji]_.”

 

A flat cardboard envelope arrived 4 days later. Inside, sketches of Sam, most carefully detailed, some rougher and more hurried, like the artist had been trying to get it on paper before they forgot. The drawings went back some time; he even remembered some of the moments Steve had sketched (like the one where he’d gotten coffee on his nice shirt.)  


He spent a long time looking at the pictures, impressed with how well Steve had captured his likeness from memory, mildly irritated by how perfectly _romantic_ the gesture was (and how well it was working.)   


He called Steve. “These drawings are… they’re… ”  
  
    “ _Too much?_ ” Steve sounded slightly anxious; he wasn’t exactly _shy_ about his art, but actually showing Sam his portraits was a whole other thing.   
  
    “Nah. No. They’re…” Sam searched for the right words. “Thanks.” His voice was softer than usual.  
  
Sam could hear the smile in Steve’s voice as he replied, “ _You’re a pretty good subject._ ”  
  
    “Okay, _now_ you’re too much.”  
  
    “ _But you like it_.”  
  
There was a pause. On the other end of the phone, Steve worriedly thought _Did my big mouth get me in trouble again?_  
  
    “Maybe. A guy could get used to this kinda treatment,” Sam finally said, his voice carefully casual.   
  
    “ _I’ll give it to you._ ”  
  
    “You gonna do _what_ now? Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Cap.” _He’ll_ ** _give it to me?_**  
  
    “ _Uh-- the-- this kind of treatment. Not, uh-- well, that’s-- I mean--”_ _Way to go, Steve._ Sam didn’t miss Steve’s little intake of breath when he’d realised that Sam had sorta-almost-maybe-if-you-squint …flirted with him. Kinda.  


Sam laughed for a long time, imagining how mortified Steve looked.

 

\---  
  
    “Wilson,” Sam said, his phone cradled to his ear. A stack of papers at his elbow teetered dangerously as he reached for a pen and scribbled hastily on a form.   
  
_“Sam, you busy?”_ Melissa, the front desk receptionist, asked. She sounded strangely breathy.   
  
_What a weird question.  
_   
    “Am I ever _not_ busy?” Sam quipped, half-smiling. He frowned at the form, realising he’d written the wrong thing on the wrong line.   
  
_“Touché. Someone’s here to see you… ”_   
  
Sam waited a beat. “Who is it, Mel?”   
  
_“I’m just gonna send ‘em in, okay?”_   
  
    “Who--”   
  
_“Trust me, you wanna see ‘em.”_   
  
    “All right, Mel. If it’s the Avon lady I’m gonna be pissed.”   
  
Melissa laughed. _“Okay, hang on.”_   
  
Sam half-shrugged as he hung up the phone. Scowling at the erroneous form, he reached over to put it through the shredder and grab a new one-- and the pile of papers beside him cascaded to the ground as his arm knocked them over.   
  
Sam opened his mouth to swear when a light knock came at the door.   
  
    “Yeah,” Sam called, leaning down to try to grab some of the papers (and in the process, knocking a stack of files on top of them.)   
“ _Mmmmmotherfucker_ ,” he hissed, straightening slightly in his chair to see who had entered his office. Steve poked his head in, raising his eyebrows at Sam’s colourful language.   
  
    “Hey, Sam. Uh… bad time?”   
  
Sam huffed out a half-sigh, half-laugh. “Steve. Come in. Your timing’s pretty damn spectacular, ‘cause _this_ bullshit just happened.” He gestured to the mess of papers and files on the ground. Steve grimaced sympathetically.   
  
    “Need help?”   
  
    “Don’t offer if you’re not serious,” Sam warned, stretching his arms above his head. “This might take a while.”   
  
    “I’m serious,” Steve smiled, moving over and kneeling beside the papers. He began shuffling them, trying to get them into some kind of order.   
  
Sam tried not to focus on the fact that Steve was kneeling in front of him. _No. Nope. We’re working. Focus on work. WORK._   
  
    “What you doing around here?” Sam asked, picking up a file and checking its contents.   
  
    “I’d be lying if I said I just happened to be in the neighbourhood,” Steve replied, looking up at Sam with a bemused expression.   
  
    “You came to see me?”   
  
    “Yeah… you usually get off at about 7, right?”   
  
    “That’s creepy, Steve. You been hanging around Barnes too much.” Sam laughed a little, feeling secretly pleased that Steve had come to see him.  
  
    “Hey, gimme a little credit-- _you_ told me when you get off work.”   
  
    “True. You want to do something…?” Sam asked, accepting a neatly stacked pile of papers from Steve.   
  
    “Well, we had dinner reservations for 7:30…” Steve said ruefully. Sam blinked. _Shit._   
  
    “Ahhh _man_ , that was today? Fuck. Sorry…” Sam felt genuinely bad; he’d gotten so caught up in work that he’d clean forgotten about his (10th? 14th? 16th?) date with Steve.  
  
    “You sure know how to make a guy feel special,” Steve grinned.   
  
    “Okay, look-- if we can fix these papers and hustle, we can make the reservation, right?”   
  
    “Sam, it’s almost 10pm.”   
  
    “What? _What?_ ” Sam looked at his clock. 6:06pm. He stared at it, realizing with a sinking heart that the second hand wasn’t moving. It had died sometime during the day, and he didn’t notice; it was easy to lose track of time in his windowless office. He didn’t usually check his smartphone at work, finding it distracting… _I bet I have a million texts and missed calls from Steve. Shiiiiiit._   
“Steve, I’m sorry. Really. God…”   
  
    “It’s okay, Sam. I might have another idea… if you still wanted to do something tonight.”   
  
Sam’s heart leapt into his throat. _Another idea?_ Unbidden, the vision of him bent over his desk, Steve pressed against him as he moaned ecstatically, leapt to his mind. _Whoa WHOA no. Work! We’re at WORK. I watch too much porn. Jesus.  
  
_     “Sam?”   
  
    “Oh-- uh. Yeah… what’s your idea?”   
  
Steve had an eyebrow raised, almost as if he’d been able to read Sam’s mind. _God, I hope that’s not a secret side effect of the supersoldier serum._

    “There’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight. I thought we could drive out to the country, watch it together…?”  
  
Not… exactly what Sam had had in mind. _Trust Steve to be Mr. Romance when all I can think about is sex._   
  
    “That’s cheesy as hell, Steve,” Sam said, struggling to fit some files onto an already-packed shelf. “Let’s do it.”  
  
  
\---   
  
  
It took almost 40 more minutes to finish sorting Sam’s papers, but the time seemed to fly as Steve and Sam chatted, half-flirting. Melissa popped in to say goodnight (and get another look at Captain America), turning off most of the lights in the front lobby on her way out.   
  
It was just Steve and Sam in the building.   
  
    “You sure we’ll have enough time to make it out of the city before the shower starts?” Sam asked, patting the last file into place. Steve stood, stretching his back while checking the time on his phone.   
  
    “If we burn rubber, yeah.”   
  
    “You driving?”   
  
    “Kinda…”   
  
    “ _Kinda_ ?”   
  


  


Sam stared at the helmet that Steve was offering him.   
  
    “You want me to sit behind you. On that thing. For an hour.”  
  
Steve patted his beloved motorcycle, looking almost miffed.   
“It’s not _that thing_ , she’s in great shape. And it won’t take an hour. Promise.”  
  
    “ _Steve_ ,” Sam almost whined. He’d ridden on Steve’s bike a few times before, and although he much prefered to fly, he wasn’t protesting because of the lack of comfort. He was protesting because _now_ , sitting with his crotch pressed against Steve’s ass for 45 minutes sounded like torture.   
  
    “We don’t have to use the bike if you’re nervous, Sam.”  
  
    “W-- I’m not _nervous_ , gimme the damn helmet--” Sam saw the big grin on Steve’s face. He’d known that Sam would get riled up and agree to ride behind him. _Bastard._   
  
    “I’m serious, Sam. If you want, we can go grab the car…” Steve was still smiling teasingly, but his offer was genuine.   
  
    “Nah, let’s go. _Nervous,_ my ass…”  
  
  
\---  


    “This is a good spot,” Steve said loudly over the roar of the engine. They’d been on the road for about half an hour, the city slowly giving way to dark forests with increasingly sparse lights from the occasional house. The sky was an inky blue-black, and without the lights of the city, the stars and waning three-quarter moon looked almost close enough to touch. It was better than any restaurant could have ever been.  


The ride had been much, much worse than Sam had anticipated. Before, he’d been able to ignore how he felt, but now that Steve had made it clear that he wanted to be with Sam…  
  
Worst of all, Steve had insisted on Sam holding on to him. “Safety first.”   
  
    “Go to hell.” Sam had still leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Steve’s torso. His body under Sam’s hands felt even better than he’d ever dreamed. _Kill me._

 

Sam almost staggered off the bike after Steve parked and turned off the engine. The sudden silence was only punctuated by crickets and the ticking sound of the cooling engine, and Steve sighed contentedly. He often came out this way when he needed to think or escape the city, and he was a little bit anxious about how Sam would like it. With his enhanced senses, the light from the moon and stars was more than enough for him to see Sam’s face, the way he slowly took in his surroundings.  
  
    “Steve?” Sam said, his voice quiet.   
  
    “Yeah?”   
  
    “This is… nice.” Sam rolled his eyes inwardly at how weak the praise sounded, but he was a little bit overwhelmed. He never really had time to venture far out of the city, and even though it was dark as hell, he could tell that what lay around him was beautiful. He could even hear the gurgle of running water if he strained his ears. _Probably an adorable babbling brook or some shit. Steve fuckin’ Rogers._ The man was a natural romantic.   
  
    “I’m glad you like it, Sam. Do you want to sit? I know a place.”   
  
    “Okay… kinda wish I brought something to eat, though.” Sam had, as usual, skipped lunch to keep working (apparently ‘part-time’ meant nothing to him) and he felt a little light-headed.   
  
    “I brought food… figured you’d’ve skipped lunch again.”   
  
    “You packed a picnic?” Sam asked, the amusement apparent in his voice.   
  
    “I guess so,” Steve muttered.   
  
    “You packed a picnic to watch a meteor shower with me in the countryside?” Sam pressed, enjoying how Steve’s shy smile widened.   
  
    “Yeah…”   
  
    “Oh my _god_ , Rogers.”   
  
    “I know. C’mon.” He slung a large bag over his shoulder and led the way up a small hill. Sam was extra grateful for the darkness, because his entire face was hot.   


    “We made good time,” Steve commented as he settled on the grass. They had almost an hour before the meteor shower was scheduled to start. Sam was quietly impressed, enjoying the way the blue-tinged light made the trees look like an eerie ocean as the light breeze made them sway. Steve was enjoying the way the light hit Sam. _He’s so beautiful._ He wasn’t quite sure how to tell Sam that, knowing that he would likely laugh it off.   
  
    “Never really been a country boy,” Sam said, pulling his knees up and resting his elbows on them. “Ma took me and my sister to our cousin’s farm once or twice… but we never really had the time.” _Or money._   
  
    “I never went much to the country either,” Steve replied. “Used to try to go a couple of times a year with Bucky, just to breathe some decent air. Give my lungs a break.” It was so long ago, yet it seemed like only a few years to Steve.

    “I love the city, but feels pretty good to get outta there sometimes. To be honest, nowadays it can be a little…”  
  
    “ … too much?” Sam finished, turning his head to look at Steve. Steve nodded, not taking his eyes off Sam’s face.   
  
    “Sam, can I draw you?”   
  
Sam raised his eyebrows. _That came outta nowhere._

    “Like one of your French girls?”  
  
    “Even _I_ know that reference is outdated,” Steve laughed. Sam glanced away as he smiled, feeling a little silly. He knew Steve drew, but he’d never posed for him before.   
  
    “Mmmngh… I mean… I guess… okay. Dunno how you can see,” Sam finally said, desperately resisting the urge to hide his face in his hands.   
  
    “I can see you just fine, Sam. Why d’you think I want to draw you? Promise… it won’t take long,” Steve said, already taking a small sketchbook and pencil from his bag.   
  
    “That’s what she said,” Sam muttered, resorting to the childish comeback out of a need to feel less ‘head over heels.’ Steve merely smirked, bending as he began drawing.   
  
    “‘She’ was wrong.”   
  
  
\---  


    “This is really good,” Sam groaned. Steve grinned, opening his own sandwich and offering Sam a ginger ale.   
  
    “I bought them at a deli,” Steve admitted. Sam snorted and almost choked.  
  
    “ _That’s_ why it’s not slathered in mayonnaise,” he coughed, laughing.  
  
    “I _like_ mayonnaise!”  
  
    “… no comment.”  
  
Steve laughed and opened his drink, the sharp sound of the carbonation escaping the bottle breaking the silence.   
  
    “Oh… hey!” Sam was pointing to the sky. A thin streak of bright white appeared, signalling the beginning of the meteor shower. Steve’s heart leapt at the the enthusiasm in Sam’s voice.  
  
They watched the sky in silence for some time (or rather, Sam did; Steve kept getting distracted by watching the wonder on Sam’s face, feeling almost smothered by how much he loved the man.)  
  
Sam suddenly leaned against Steve, an unusual display of open affection, and Steve had to work hard not to yank him into a kiss. _Oh boy. I’m in deep._   
  
Almost as if he knew what Steve was thinking, Sam turned his head and pressed his lips to Steve’s cheek.  
“This is… wow,” he said, gesturing to the beautiful display in the sky. Steve, blushing hard (of course), cleared his throat.   
  
    “I’m glad you like… it…” he trailed off as Sam gazed at him, his expression hard to read.   
  
    “Steve.”  
  
    “Yeah?”  
  
Sam leaned in and kissed him full on the mouth. Steve thought his heart might burst; Sam hadn’t really initiated their limited physical contact before now. Steve was on the verge of pulling Sam closer when the other man gently pulled away and started moving to sit directly in front of Steve.  
  
    “Make room,” Sam was saying now. Steve blinked, confused, as Sam nudged his legs apart; but then he understood as Sam scooted backwards, fitting himself into the ‘V’ of Steve’s legs. Sam was being unusually affectionate and Steve found himself hoping it wasn’t temporary, that they’d turned a corner in their burgeoning relationship at last.  
  
His answer was pretty obvious when Sam tugged at his arms, hinting that he wanted Steve to hold him. This he did with enthusiasm, pressing earnest kisses to Sam’s neck. Slightly breathless laughter was his reward, and Steve thought he’d never stop smiling.  
  
_Looks like you’re a goddamn fool for this romance shit, Wilson_. Sam pushed aside his self-conscious feeling of being too lovey-dovey, commanding himself to just enjoy the moment as it was. Steve was warm and solid against his back, the sky was studded with winking stars and the occasional unearthly streak of a falling meteor. It was as close to perfect as he could get.  
  
They didn’t talk much as they watched the shower, Steve concentrating on the rise and fall of Sam’s chest as he breathed, Sam feeling comforted by the dull _thud_ of Steve’s strong heartbeat against his back.  
  
Steve’s hands moved a little as he shifted to a more comfortable position, and Sam slowly found he was distracted by something else entirely. Something that he would have usually ignored, but… it was dark, there was no one around, and he felt like being a little bit reckless. _I want him so bad._ _Fuck._  
  
He leaned his head back against Steve’s shoulder, who tentatively kissed his mouth. Sam sighed and parted his lips, urging Steve to deepen the kiss-- and hoping he’d get the hint. _I want you. I want you._  
  
Maybe he’d need a bigger hint. Sam pressed back against Steve, feeling the growing hardness against his ass. _I want you._  
  
    “Sam,” Steve said quietly, breaking the kiss. “Sam… I--”  
  
    “I want you.” Sam’s voice was quiet, breathy in Steve’s ear, and were some of the sweetest words he’d ever heard. Without hesitation, Steve’s hand trailed down Sam’s chest and came to rest on the bulge of his jeans. Sam was already hard, and Steve offered a silent thanks that they were on the same page.  
  
    “You want me, Sam?” he murmured in the other man’s ear, gently cupping Sam through his jeans. Sam’s light groan was his affirmation, and Steve felt something _click_ in his mind. Maybe he’d been going about this all wrong…   
  
    “Tell me again, Sam.” It was a risk, a huge risk taking the bossy role, but he remembered something Sam had said before … _“I just like to be bossy…_ ** _sometimes_** _.”_ Maybe this was one of the _other_ times.  
  
    “I want you,” Sam all but moaned. Steve gently bit at his neck, enjoying the shudder that went through Sam’s body. He hadn’t planned on this happening, but he was more than happy that it had-- and that Sam had been the one to start it.   
  
    “What d’you want me to do?” he said, relentlessly palming Sam, feeling him grow even harder. Sam’s eyes opened and he raised an eyebrow.  
  
    “The… the fuck you… think?” he managed, trying and failing for his usual snark. Steve just kissed him, smiling against his lips.  
  
    “Tell me.”  
  
    “Want you to…”   
  
    “Yeah?”  
  
But words failed Sam for once. Instead, he used his own hand to guide Steve’s hand towards his zipper. Steve slowly pulled at it, slipping his other hand under Sam’s shirt.   
  
    “Please,” was all Sam could manage. That was more than enough; the only ‘please’ Sam ever used with Steve was along the lines of “Please get your goddamn shoes off my hardwood” or “Please tell me you didn’t erase my DVR recording of _Cutthroat Kitchen_ , you goddamn fossil.”  
  
    “Of course,” Steve said in a low voice. _Sam’s voice… god, I might not last long.  
__  
__  
_ Soon, Sam’s shuddering exhalations joined the light rustle of the breeze through the trees. The meteors continued their spectacular show in the heavens above, completely unnoticed by the two men.

  
\---  


_I just rode out to the countryside and got a mindblowing handjob from Captain America during a meteor shower._ Anaya was going to be so jealous.  


Steve kissed his temple, surreptitiously wiping his hand on the grass beside him. Sam shivered slightly; the light wind had picked up a little and the sweat he’d worked up during his… activities… was cooling on his skin. Steve noticed and reached for his leather jacket, draping it over Sam’s shoulders.  
  
    “Mmm… what about you?” Sam asked, his breathing still returning to normal. Steve shook his head.   
  
    “I’m ok,” he said evasively. Sam looked back at him, seeing even by the light of the moon that he was embarrassed about something.   
  
    “You ok? Sure you don’t want me to…?”   
  
    “Uh… I already…” Steve was unable to make himself say the words.   
  
    “You-- oh. _Oh._ Wow.” _He already came. Oh my god._ Sam didn’t laugh at Steve, seeing that he was actually embarrassed. Instead, he smirked. “I must be _really_ doing it for you, Rogers.”   
  
Steve, relieved that Sam wasn’t teasing him, kissed him soundly. “You are. The sounds you make… ”   
  
Sam made a dismissive noise and fixed his jeans before leaning back against Steve, who wrapped his arms around him again.   
  
    “You were pretty fuckin’ _Captain_ -ish, Steve,” he said mildly. Steve squeezed him slightly, kissing his neck one last time.   
  
    “You liked it.”   
  
    “.......yeah, well, don’t make a habit of it.” Sam paused. “Outside the bedroom.”   
  
    “So I’m invited to the bedroom, and you want this to be a habit?” Steve asked teasingly.   
  
    “On a trial basis,” Sam mumbled as Steve laughed.   
  
    “And if I pass?” Steve’s voice was lower than usual and his hands were busy sliding under Sam’s shirt again.   
  
    “If?”   
  
    “I was gonna say ‘when,’ but I didn’t wanna sound cocky.”   
  
Sam hummed a little, turning to kneel between Steve’s legs and look at him.  
“Maybe I want you to sound like that.”  
  
He was rarely so direct about things like this, but hell, it was a special night. Steve’s slow smile sent a thrill through Sam and he decided he didn’t want to analyze why he wanted Steve like this, _liked_ the thread of gentle command in the other man’s voice.   
  
    “Come show me what I get if -- _when_ I pass my trial,” Steve murmured. Sam didn’t hesitate in settling between Steve’s legs, but right before he used his teeth to tug at Steve’s zipper, the _look_ Sam gave him was equal parts smoldering and utterly blissed-out. _Wait._ _Who’s really in charge here?_   
  
Mere minutes later, when there were literal fingerprints pressed deep into the soft earth and several large chunks of grass had been accidentally ripped up by the good Captain, whoever was ‘in charge’ was of little consequence indeed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: this is a long-ass chapter, no? But I didn't want to keep y'all waiting for the Samsteve fluff... and tbh there's only so many times I can edit the damn thing before I have to bite the bullet and just post it.
> 
> Next time: All-Caps is a go! They...mostly stay home because they're old men.)


	19. oh, i was just so sure of everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bucky just can't concentrate.
> 
> plans are made.

Bucky gingerly put the smoking joint in the ashtray as he squinted tiredly at Sam’s laptop screen.  
  
    “How ‘bout this? There’s some 1930s dance party thing the day after…” Sam was nestled beside him on the couch, his chin resting on Bucky’s right shoulder.   
  
    “Dunno… wouldn’t be like the real thing. Might make him feel weird. Shit, might make _me_ feel weird.” Bucky shook his head, his eyes slightly reddened and glassy. They’d been doing research for hours, and they were no closer than when they’d started.   
  
    “Shit, if it’s _too_ ‘historically accurate’ they might not even let my black ass in,” Sam snorted. Bucky grimaced, as he often did when Sam got a little Too Real, but he didn’t deny it (why would he? He’d been there.) Closing the internet tab they’d been looking at, Sam groaned. The usual stereotypical ‘dude’ gifts wouldn't cut it; Steve rarely wore ties, he already had a tool set, and any gadget they could buy, he either already had, or S.H.I.E.L.D. had provided a far advanced version before it fell a few years back.

    “Art gallery?” Bucky asked, drumming his fingers on the trackpad. Sam waved the smoke out of his face and sighed.   
  
    “It’s closed that day, jackass. You said ‘art gallery?’ like five times.”   
  
    “Didn’t.”   
  
    “You _did._ Put that out for now, man,” Sam grumped, gesturing to the joint. “You’re losing focus.”  
  
Bucky turned to look at Sam, a sudden smile on his face.

    “What is it…?” Sam looked suspicious (as he well should be, because a smiling Bucky was usually about to do something annoying.)  
  
    “Just know what I wanna focus on instead of gift-shopping…” he murmured, leaning forward to press his lips to Sam’s.   


Them settling into an ‘old bickering married couple’ routine hadn’t put a damper on Bucky’s sex drive, which had surprised Sam. He had thought that all the trauma that Bucky had been through would have put the kibosh on any excess horniness, but quite the opposite. Once he and Bucky had stopped dancing around each other and allowed themselves to relax, they’d found that Bucky a) couldn’t keep his hands off Sam and b) had a very short recovery period. This meant that any time that they both had the day off, Sam had to made sure he didn’t have to work early the next day, because damn.  
  
_Aren’t you supposed to be doing something?_ The annoyingly responsible part of Sam’s brain tried to get his attention, which was nigh impossible because Bucky was slowly unbuckling his belt as he bit hard at Sam’s neck. _Yeah, I’m_ **_supposed to_ ** _get some dick, brain, shut the fuck up._

  
But there had been something…  
  
But… Bucky was kneeling on the floor between Sam’s knees and… oh _god,_ he was grabbing Sam’s hands and Sam automatically slipped his fingers into Bucky’s hair and… _fuck_ , he just mouthed the word ‘Pull’ with that pretty pouty mouth of his and … _hell_ , Sam’s breath left him in a rush as Bucky’s mouth slowly engulfed his dick and… _shit,_ Bucky moaned so loud when Sam gave his hair a good tug just the way he liked it, and--  
  
    “Steve!”  
  
Bucky looked up, the pupils of  his eyes blown wide open with desire. He didn’t move his mouth off of Sam’s cock, just ‘ _Hmmm?’_ ing in query. Sam took a moment to steady himself, because that sight was _too much_ and he’d almost come right then and there.   
  
    “Steve…”  
  
Bucky finally slid Sam’s cock out of his mouth, taking his time and curling his lips in wicked pleasure as Sam let out a small groan.   
  
    “What about Steve? Want him to join us?” Bucky tilted his head, his lips just barely brushing the tip of Sam’s dick. _Help._   
  
    “What? No… _fuck, Barnes, jesus christ_ … no, I mean-- his gift?”  
  
Bucky paused, his hand idly stroking Sam as he looked thoughtful. Sam was biting his lip hard and trying not to squirm, knowing that Bucky was being a smug little bastard and trying to get a reaction out of him.   
  
    “Well… why don’t we do that? For his birthday-- all three of us?” Bucky smiled a little, partially because hey, it was a good idea-- but mostly because he could hear Sam’s breathing getting shaky and knew he was about to earn some bragging rights.  
  
    “ _You’re killing me, Barnes_ ,” Sam hissed, his eyes squeezed shut. Bucky’s answer was to slowly swirl his tongue around the head of Sam’s cock, chuckling softly as Sam swore under his breath.  
“Three of us…? I dunno; I have-- I haven’t even had sex with Steve yet,” Sam managed to say, despite being barely able to think. Bucky looked genuinely surprised for a moment before his smirk returned in full force.   
  
With little warning, he lowered his head and returned to sucking with gusto (Sam felt like his soul would leave his body at one point), not even pausing when Sam came, not even pausing when Sam’s body twisted under him, not even pausing when Sam’s voice was hoarse from calling his name-- only when he knew Sam was good and ready did he slow and stop, rudely licking his lips as he stared up at his boyfriend.   
  
    “Guess we just found Steve’s birthday gift.”  
  
    “Whuh?” Sam didn’t do much else but sit there and enjoy his afterglow and the way Bucky was looking up at him, all shining eyes and tousled hair, pink lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed. _Fuck_.   
  
    “The gift. I know what it is.”  
  
    “What is it?”  
  
    “ _You._ ”  
  
    “Fuck you, Barnes.”  
  
    “Wrong person, but that’s the spirit.”

 

Sam just barely managed to agree that it would, in fact, be a good gift idea before Bucky lost focus completely, eager as he was to bend Sam over the back of the couch and _really_ earn some bragging rights.   


\---  


_SAM W.: hbd Cap. [American flag emoji; birthday cake emoji] come over for ur gift l8r. [wink emoji]_   


July 4th, 8:12am.

  
Steve opened an eye after his phone blipped, immediately regretting doing so. He had a pounding headache from not getting enough sleep, and although it didn’t take much sleep to get him back into top form, 30 minutes wasn’t gonna cut it.   
  
Some assholes-- _Enthused citizens_ , he bitterly corrected himself -- had started setting off fireworks at 11 or so on the night of July 3rd. He’d usually be touched by the display of loving patriotism, but lately, his country had been letting him down a little (Sam had a _lot_ to say on that very subject)... and the loud irregular bangs of the fireworks and firecrackers made Bucky pretty jumpy, making it impossible for either of them to sleep.   
  
(Having sex enough times that a normal person would have long keeled over had helped to ease Bucky’s nerves a bit, granted. It also meant that they were up until long past sunrise, and although Steve wasn’t about to complain about marathon sex as an early birthday gift, he still wished he could’ve slept longer.)  


    “Don’t go,” Bucky groaned, his face mostly pressed into his pillow. Steve sighed deeply and turned slightly to kiss Bucky’s bare shoulder before swinging his legs out of the bed.   
  
    “I gotta go. I promised.”   
  
    Bucky’s tired sigh was even deeper than Steve’s had been.   
“But working on your birthday? And it’s a fuckin’ holiday… c’mon, man.”   
  
Steve was already tugging on his uniform, aiming a rueful look at the inviting bed. Truly, he wanted to spend the entire day with Sam and Bucky in this room (especially if Sam’s text meant what Steve _thought_ it meant), but duty called.   
  
    “‘s not life or death, Steve. Just call in or somethin’.”   
  
    “Lotta disappointed little faces if I don’t show, Buck.”   
  
Bucky rolled his eyes a little, but he smiled into his pillow. Of _course_ Steve had volunteered to “dress up” as Captain America to cheer up sick kids who were stuck in the hospital on the 4th of July… which happened to be his birthday. Of course. He wouldn’t be Steve if he didn’t. And it didn’t hurt that none of the doctors or nurses had cottoned on that it was the _real_ Captain America (well, a few had, but they weren’t about to rat him out.) As far as they were concerned, he was just a really nice guy working for a kids’ charity who looked a _lot_ like Steve Rogers (but they were pretty sure the real Captain America was taller. And blonder. And less nerdy.)

    “You working today?” Steve asked as he tapped out a reply to Sam, idly imagining his other boyfriend’s adorably grumpy morning face. Sam hated when they called him adorable. They did it as often as possible.  
  
_ROGERS: Thanks, Sam! [smile emoji; party popper emoji] Can’t wait to see you later… wonder what my gift is?_   
  
    “Nah, _some_ of us are gonna actually take the day off and celebrate this great country,” Bucky yawned. Besides amounts of sex that would be deemed impossible by non-superpowered standards, Bucky had insisted on giving Steve’s beloved bike an overhaul as a birthday gift. (No, he wouldn’t scratch her, _yes,_ the bike would look exactly the same, just run a little smoother and eat less gas, and _yes,_ he knew Steve would kick his ass if he broke his precious motorcycle.)   
  
    “I thought you said you were getting drunk with Nat and Clint after you were done with Agatha.”   
  
    “That’s such a shitty name for a bike. Fuck. Anyway, Nat and Clint will be fine-- I can’t get drunk.”   
  
Steve ignored Bucky’s comment about his bike’s name. “The hell you can’t, Bucky. If anyone’s gonna get you drunk, it’s those two…”   
  
Bucky just grinned impishly in reply.   
  
    “So much for ‘celebrating this great country,’” Steve snorted.   
  
    “Engh, we’ll jam sparklers up our asses while we drink, then. Whad’yawant from me, Rogers?”   
  
    “A goodbye kiss, because I’ve gotta go.”   
  
_SAM W.: ill give u a hint: dont come over tired. & wear something sexy. _   
  
Bucky, seeing the look on Steve’s face as he read the text, sank back into bed with a knowing smile on his lips.

    “Say hi to Sam for me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: This is a short chapter, but there's another! I know I'm taking a long-ass time, because apparently to me 'edit' means 'write a bunch of new stuff and then avoid editing until you're going nuts'
> 
> less go! --->)


	20. i tried to fill, but it overflowed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> party time. Steve finally gets a damn drink.

When Sam looked up from smoothing plastic wrap across the top of the bowl, he burst out laughing. Steve was such a little shit.  
  
_“wear something sexy,”_ Sam had texted half-jokingly. He should’ve known that Steven Grant Rogers never did anything half-assed. He’d chosen a snug pair of blue jeans, with artful-looking rips and tears that only Sam and Bucky knew came from Steve being hurled through a brick wall while he was out having a nice quiet day at a local craft fair (Hydra was kind of shitty like that.) But it was the shirt that did it. In thick black letters (may be old as time but he had quickly picked up hipster aesthetics), it said _[MADE IN AMERICA](http://www.zazzle.ca/made_in_america_shirt-235314318081436482)_. And the shirt might as well have been spray-painted onto the man, for all that it clung to him.  
  
Anyone that thought that Steve “Size XXL” Rogers ‘accidentally’ chose medium-sized t-shirts was kidding themselves. He may not be a braggart, but he was observant enough to know what clothing items made people's eyes bug out.  
  
    “Well?” Steve asked, spreading his arms to show off his outfit. Sam raked his eyes over Steve’s frankly ridiculous body, taking his time. The serum was the cause of a lot of grief for the Captain, but his body wasn’t one of them.  
  
    “‘S a'ight,” Sam said dismissively. Steve chuckled a little, knowing Sam too well to miss the heated look he’d had in his eyes. _Mission accomplished._  
  
    “So, what’s the big surprise?” Steve asked, moving a little closer to where Sam was now wrestling a huge watermelon out of the fridge. Sam ignored him for a few moments, muttering under his breath.  
  
    “Lamb, watermelon, vodka, what was the other thing…?”  
  
    “Sam?” Steve wasn’t exactly needy, but it was his _birthday_ dammit.  
  
    “Shut up a sec. Lamb, watermelon, vodka… _shit, fuck_ , the cake…” Sam glanced at his phone. “Shit, okay. 3 hours. I can whip something up.”    
  
    “You’re making me a cake?”  
  
Sam looked up, his eyebrows raised. “Why would I make you a cake?”  
  
    “It’s my birthday! Isn’t that what boyfr… isn’t that what people do for each other?” There was an awkward pause. They hadn’t said the b-o-y-f-r-i-e-n-d thing yet, although it was as good as done. It seemed… like a big step. Which was stupid.  
  
    “Oh. It’s your birthday?” Sam asked, his mock innocence making Steve level a withering look at him.  
“I completely forgot,” Sam continued, stepping over to Steve and continuing his clueless act. He placed a hand on Steve’s stomach, taking a moment to think _God bless America for these abs_ before deliberately trailing a hand down. Steve took a sharp breath in, his blue eyes darkening as he took in Sam’s small smirk.

Their kiss coincided with Sam palming Steve’s hardness through his jeans, making him groan low into Sam’s mouth. His hands came up to firmly grip Sam’s ass and pull him against Steve, making it clear with a twitch of his hips that he’d desperately like to violate Sam’s ‘No Sex Stuff In the Kitchen’ rule (“It’s _unhygienic_ , ya nasty.”)

    “You want cake? You’ll get it,” Sam murmured. “But right now…”  
  
    “Mm?” Steve was flushed in the face, biting at his lower lip in a way that made Sam’s mind blissfully blank for a second.  
  
    “We gotta go to a barbeque.”  
  
    “What.” Steve’s inflection was flat, an unconscious mimicry of Sam’s way of saying the word when Steve and/or Bucky did or said something stupid (which was entirely too goddamn often.)  
  
    "The kids in my building are throwing a rooftop thing. They’re nice, took me to this Thai restautant in an alley that made me shit fire for a day and a half. I think Darius is bringing his microbrews. Ain’t half-bad… but you gotta help me make the cake, okay? I talked a big game about making the best chocolate cake they’d ever had.”  
  
Steve just stared. “We’re going to a barbeque?”  
  
    “Yeah. Get the mixing bowl for me; top shelf, next to the good wine glasses.”  
  
Steve thought of saying that Sam was going to a hipster rooftop party, that he was talking about microbrews, that he had _nice wine glasses_ , but he merely raised an eyebrow at Sam and let that say it for him. Sam glanced up and something strange passed over his face. He knew what Steve was feeling.  
  
    “Look, we’ve both been through enough shit,” he said, his voice a little quiet. He couldn’t bring himself to say that yeah, he grew up in a place that people in nice business suits wouldn’t dare tread; that he’d made it his life’s mission to get his mama out of there when he had enough money (she’d refused, saying that they weren’t gonna help their community by _leaving_ it), that he felt a little bit guilty when his old highschool friends teased him about being positively _uptown_ nowadays…

But, _shit_ , man. He had dreamed so long of having somewhere of his own. Somewhere with Riley. And yeah, maybe making a Drunken Watermelon and measuring out coconut sugar into a stainless-steel bowl wasn’t where he’d seen himself when he was younger.  
  
Shit changes.  
  
Steve just came over and squeezed his shoulder. In a weird way, Steve understood Sam in some ways that Riley hadn’t been able to; Riley had grown up in completely different circumstances, on a big farm straight out of a kids’ storybook. Little ponds with ducks. Cows, dogs and horses and a smiling family who had campfire singalongs, for god’s sake (Sam never stopped teasing Riley for that.)  
  
Steve had grown up in a rough part of town, desperately poor in a way that even Sam hadn’t been (Sam had never wondered where his next meal was gonna come from; he was fortunate to have his mother. She could stretch a can of soup to feed them for two days. She’d had to, after her husband had been killed, leaving her with two scared kids.) Steve understood having a hard life. He understood misplaced guilt over having something to call his own. He understood _Sam  
  
  
_ Sam huffed out a sigh. In it, was _I want both. I want block parties in the summer heat and kids playing in the spray of a fire hydrant; I want rooftop parties with fancy cocktails; I want Mr. Delgado’s homemade pork sandwiches with a lime soda (the good brand, with only Spanish written on the label); I want Delilah’s vegan organic banana bread and a mason jar of kombucha,; I want to slam dominos on the table with the guys from my youth group back home; I want to beat you at Mario Kart while an indie rock record plays on my pretentious record player that you got for me._ He wanted both worlds. He _was_ both worlds.  
  
Steve, sensing Sam’s slight shift in mood, moved over and hugged him gently from behind.  
  
    “Mixing bowl’s on the top shelf, you said?” he murmured quietly, nuzzling at Sam’s ear.  
  
    “Mmmhm,” Sam hummed, shaken out of his mopey reverie. He’d been having little moments of creeping sadness more and more often lately, and he wasn’t about to give into one now. He wasn’t. He couldn’t.   “Oh-- Steve Rogers?”  
  
    “Yes, Samuel?”  
  
    “Follow my instructions _to the letter_ , because we ain’t got time to waste and this cake needs to be perfect.”  
  
Steve nodded and stepped away, but then… for a long moment, he just stared at Sam, one eyebrow barely quirked.  
“Funny.”  
  
    “ _What’s_ funny?” Sam asked, distracted by whipping the vanilla extract into the butter and sugar.  
  
    “I usually give the instructions.” His voice was low and dark, and jesus christ if his mama hadn’t taught him to keep his social engagements, Sam would have swept everything off the counter and dragged Steve over right then and there.  
  
    “Well… I’m the Captain now,” Sam quipped weakly. Steve groaned; he’d just seen _Captain Phillips_ and knew the origin of the terrible joke.  
“Just help me make a perfect cake,” Sam continued. “And later you’ll _get_ a perfect cake.”

 

\---

 

Turns out that the perfect chocolate cake, beautifully marinated lamb skewers and vodka-soaked watermelon were a huge hit when the party was mostly populated with people drunk or stoned off their asses. Various star-spangled shirts and eagle-covered t-shirts (and a couple with Cap’s shield, which made Steve cringe inwardly) were being worn with varying degrees of irony; Sam himself had settled on a [black-and-white American flag tank top](http://c.shld.net/rpx/i/s/i/spin/-122/prod_1840404412?hei=245&wid=245&op_sharpen=1&qlt=85)  and a pair of close-fitting pale salmon capris (okay, _yeah_ , but if _your_ insanely hot boyfriend had bought you a pair and murmured about how beautiful it looked against your brown skin and how it made your ass and thighs look like a dream, you’d wear them too.)  
  
Steve twisted his mouth into a moue of Outraged Old Woman when the smell of weed, the loud chatter of young people, and the [thudding music](http://www.accuradio.com/player/57cdfc60136dc56b3de0f2d1/) from what he distastefully called “a laptop disc-jockey” hit him. Sam just nudged him with his shoulder, speaking just loudly enough for Steve’s enhanced hearing to pick up.  
  
    “Just try to loosen up, Rogers, or people might start to wonder who the uptight beefy blond guy is…”  
  
Part of the reason that Steve could hide in plain sight was the image that was associated so strongly with his Captain America personality: Stoic. Self-righteous. Truth. Justice. America. (and other, less-than-flattering word associations.)  
  
But Steve was mostly goofy, much more affectionate than any other grown-ass man Sam had ever met, and … well, _soft._ Not like that (never like that; he could be counted on not to let you down in the bedroom, according to Bucky’s nasty stories), but the horrors of war and the loss that he’d experienced hadn’t made him cold and cynical. Quite the opposite; Steve sought out the good from almost any situation, and Sam needed more of that in his life.  
  
    “Right,” Steve said, rolling his shoulders and forcing a small smile. “I’m relaxed. Super chill.”  
  
_Whoever taught Steve ‘chill’ needs to be slapped._  
  
     “Mr. Wilson!” Sam didn’t even have time to give Steve a warning look -- _don’t say_ **_shit_ ** \-- before a tall man with a long braid of dark hair waved to Sam and came over to them.

    “You came! We’re so _fuckin’ psyched_ for that cake, yo. Markey --” another man, shorter and proudly sporting the most garish t-shirt Steve had ever seen (think bald eagles, fireworks, the American flag, AND the Statue of Liberty all on the same shirt) waved languidly.  
“Markey’s high as fuck, to be honest,” the man continued, his green eyes crinkling at the corners. He’d clearly been drinking; even under his golden-brown skin, a red flush was visible. “How’s it going, Mr. Wilson?”  
  
Sam hid a cringe. “Quit with the ‘Mister’ shit, Abdul. How old you think I am?” Sam was only half-joking; most of the people in his building were in their early twenties, and he couldn’t help but feel a little bit old sometimes.  
  
_This ‘Mr. Wilson’ bullshit can stop right the fuck now._  
  
    “How old…?” Abdul mused, glancing at Steve (Steve just shrugged and pulled a ‘Don’t ask me’ face). “I dunno like… twenty-nine? Thhhhirty?” He said ‘thirty’ hesitantly, clearly worried about offending Sam. Sam, meanwhile, was too busy trying not to burst out laughing. _Well, shit._  Sam had seen 40 come and go already, but if these children thought otherwise, he wasn't about to correct them. _God bless my parents’ genes._  
  
    “Is that right, Mr.-- Sam?”  
  
    “Close enough, man,” Sam laughed. “And this,” he continued, gesturing to Steve, “is Steve.”  
  
    “Any friend of Sam’s...” Abdul nodded and grinned at Steve.  
  
Sam paused in the act of handing off his food to a sweet-looking woman with bright orange pigtails and a lot of piercings. He looked at Steve, who looked almost as stricken as Sam himself felt. _Friend?_  
  
Steve busied himself accepting a solo cup of beer that wouldn’t do jack-shit to him, but Sam could see the pink creeping up his neck. Steve wouldn’t push him one way or another; from the get-go, it was obvious that Sam was in control (well, in most matters.)  
  
    “He’s my _boy_ friend.” The words made Sam’s heart speed up a little, and Steve looked at him. His expression was somewhere between surprise and overwhelming happiness. It was _very_ dopey-looking. Sam smiled a little, getting a slightly shy laugh and a nod from Steve before the other man was pulled into a lively conversation about how much he looked like that Captain America dude (“Do I? That’s crazy.”)  
  
    “Thought that other dude was your boyfriend?” Abdul said carelessly, already half-distracted by his friend offering him both a lit sparkler and a vape pen. Steve stilled, but Sam shrugged.  
  
    “Yeah, him too.”  
  
Abdul nodded his thanks to his friend, who then turned to Steve to offer the same (yes to sparkler, no to the weed.)  
  
    “Really, dude? _Shiiiit_ , and I can’t even get a text back. He comin’ tonight? Wassis name? Binky?”  
  
Steve almost dropped his drink as he burst out laughing, and Sam choked on his lungful of smoke (yeah, _he_ had said yes to the sparkler _and_ the weed.)  
  
    “His… name is… Bucky,” Sam coughed, his eyes streaming. _Nah, his name is Binky until I die._  
  
    “Bucky? Fuckin’ weird. Hot as fuck, though. And _this guy_ \-- sorry, was it Steve? Jesus. You’re a lucky motherfucker, Sam.”  
  
Steve twirled his sparkler and winked at Abdul, every inch the showman from his stage days. “ _We’re_ lucky, Abdul.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, but _god_ but that was nice to hear.  
  
    “Whatever. I hate you all anyway,” Abdul laughed. “You dancin’? We got a good mix tonight, lots of oldies for y’all…”  
  
Sam looked unimpressed as Steve burst out laughing again.

\---

 ~~Binky~~ Bucky did, in fact, show up less than an hour later. True to Steve’s predictions, he was pretty drunk-- and the perpetrators had tagged along. Nat’s signature red hair had been dyed black, but there was no mistaking that little smirk and the lithe walk. She was wearing what could only be called ‘booty shorts’, with star-spangled tights underneath. Her short white t-shirt showed off her taut stomach, and she was sporting a well-worn pair of cowboy boots. When Nat went undercover, she went undercover.  
  
Sam had been too busy being given drinks and compliments (both on his contribution to the potluck and his dancing skills) to notice the arrival of Bucky, Nat, and--  
  
Clint had somehow already gotten his hands on not one, but _two_ shots of tequila and was about to take a massive bong from a cheerful partygoer, but Steve grabbed his arm as he turned and pulled him into a one-armed embrace. He hadn’t seen him in months, the Avengers keeping their physical distance for the most part, for the sake of their covers. Clint grinned a little awkwardly as the hug broke, hastily signing “ _Happy birthday!”_ and pointing at his vintage Captain America shirt; one of the old comic book covers that hadn’t come anything close to Steve’s actual likeness. No one could say that Clint’s terrible sense of humour had dulled with their time apart. His hair was a little shaggier than usual and he seemed to have a new-ish bruise on his cheek, but he seemed to be in one piece. Clint said something in Nat’s ear, pressing his mouth right against her ear so he could be heard over the music (and to annoy her.)  
  
“Clint, _no_ ,” Nat said loudly, swaying slightly as Bucky leaned his weight against her. The roof was packed, there was a grill going somewhere nearby (was that _lamb_ she smelled? Who the fuck grills lamb for a 4th of July party?), the music was loud enough that they could feel it in their chests, and people had started setting off fireworks both nearby and down by the harbour. The flashes of bright colour turned the roof into an open-air rave, and _lord_ but there was a lot of weed smoke.  
  
“ _Clint,_ ** _yes_** ,” Clint signed back, before disappearing into the crowd. Maybe ‘disappear’ was too strong a word; it was pretty hard to lose sight of a purple cowboy hat.  
  
  
  
Sam felt someone press against his side and was about to tell the person in no uncertain terms to back the fuck up, but a pair of hands were moving rapidly in front of his face-- Sam squinted; he’d had more than a few and was having trouble understanding what was happening.  
  
_“What’s [something] old [something something]?”_ Clint signed, grinning impishly. The crowd around him let out a sudden roar as a new song started, louder than the last, and Sam suddenly understood. ‘ _What’s up, old man_?’ Clint had said.   
  
_“Fuck you,”_ Sam signed back (he’d had plenty of practice with that particular phrase because of Bucky,) before clapping Clint fondly on the shoulder.  
  
_“Wanna dance?”_ _  
__  
__“With you?”_ _  
__  
__“Yeah.”_ _  
__  
__“Try to keep up.”_  
  
At the edge of the heaving crowd, Bucky was now draped heavily over Steve as Nat pulled a small metal object out of her shoulder bag, and she looked much too excited for Steve to be entirely comfortable with whatever birthday surprise she had planned for him.  
  
    “Nice outfit,” Steve said loudly, making her level a toothy grin at him.  
  
    “What can I say? I love my country,” she replied. Bucky, sporting a [star-spangled shirt](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/de/4b/e9/de4be9649d2f7e33cd7065786401140e.jpg) worn carelessly unbuttoned over a white t-shirt, snorted and opened his mouth to disagree when he finally focused on what Nat was offering to Steve.  
  
“‘S yer present, Stevie.”  
  
Nat’s eyes shone with amusement (and, all right, she’d had a few) and she mouthed ‘ _Stevie’_ at Steve before shaking the flask at him again. Steve half-smiled before taking it; as thoughtful as the gift was, he couldn’t get… drunk…  
  
Like Bucky.  
  
    “What did you guys give him?” Steve asked, glancing at Bucky (the man in question was distracted by a tray of brightly-coloured shots being passed around).  
  
    “That,” Nat said, jerking her chin at the flask that Steve now held. He looked more closely and saw that it was etched with intricate runes, a language that he recognized but hadn’t seen in quite a while…  
  
    “This is from-- the big guy? The one that’s _not_ green?” Steve asked, his eyebrows shooting up. Nat grinned and accepted a couple of shot glasses from Bucky, knocking the drinks back without even glancing at what they were.  
  
She coughed as one of the shots, stronger than she’d expected, burned its way down her throat. “ _Fuck!_ Yeah, the big guy left it with … our mutual friend for the occasion. The one with lots of money. He’s sorry he can’t be here, by the way.”  
  
Thor had left alcohol with Tony for Steve’s birthday? Well… he’d had weirder gifts before. Steve and Tony weren’t exactly on the best of terms, but it was a touching gesture to send this for him nonetheless.  
  
Steve had never been a big drinker, and although he occasionally missed it, it wasn’t a big deal to him. It might be nice to try to get a small buzz for once; it if had had an effect on Bucky…  
  
    “Where the hell is Bucky?”  
  
Nat had started swaying her hips to the thudding music (her current identity apparently dug club music) and she waved ‘no’ at a joint that was passed her way (she never did drugs.)  
  
    “Look.”

 

Okay, Sam had actually been really surprised that Clint could dance-- like _really_ dance.  
  
The two men had been catching up as best they could with the loud music and potential listening ears, but mostly they’d been putting down some damn moves. Clint danced like he fought; strangely chaotic and skilled at once, his seemingly crazy moves always on-beat and never accidentally smacking anyone in the face (like some people named James.)  
  
Sam let out a small yelp of surprise as Bucky’s hands slid on his hips from behind, and Clint grinned (he’d seen Bucky heading their way, but had declined to warn Sam, because Clint was an asshole like that.)   
  
    “Oh my _god,_ ” both Sam and Bucky said as the song changed. Sam sounded pained, Bucky thrilled.  
  
    “I like this song!” Bucky enthusiastically swung his hips behind Sam; he wasn’t as fancy a dancer as Clint, but he had rhythm and could learn dance steps fairly quickly (unlike some people named Steve.)  
  
    “You _do not fucking like ‘[Mambo No. 5](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bu7h_md33So)_ _,’_ Barnes.”  
  
    “Why th’ fuck not?” Bucky shot back, sounding genuinely perplexed. He hadn’t been there for the rise and fall of the titular song, and so appreciated it unironically.  
  
    “ _I_ hate that song and I can’t hear for shit,” Clint shouted, still dancing despite his words.  
  
Sam only had a moment to roll his eyes and mentally shrug-- why the fuck not? It was a nice night and a little Lou Bega never hurt anybody.  
  
    “Mind if I cut in?”  
  
Sam looked up (Bucky didn’t, because whatever Sam was doing with his hips was _insane_ and he was transfixed) and huffed out a laugh. Steve had appeared nearby, a clearly drunk Nat in tow.  
  
Natasha rarely let herself get inebriated, but she made a few rare exceptions-- the birthday of one of her best friends was definitely one. There were unlikely to be any dangerous people in this crowd; and besides, even plastered off her ass, Natasha Romanoff didn’t fuck around. She’d already noted where the ice pick was, the best way off the roof, and her cowboy boots concealed a small pistol. Practically a day at the beach for her.  
  
Sam accepted the sloppy hug that she pressed on him, trying not to think how odd it was that he was cheerfully greeting his friends while basically grinding on his boyfriend to fucking Lou Bega.    
  
Steve grinned somewhat glassily at Sam and Bucky as Nat was dragged into a whirling dance move by Clint. If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d say Steve looked a little bit drunk, but that wasn’t possible.  
  
    “Want s’more?” Steve said loudly, shaking something that flashed metallic in the occasional flash of the fireworks from down by the harbour. The smell coming off the flask made Sam’s head reel.  
  
    “Yeah!” Bucky said half-shouted, taking the flask from Steve and taking a huge swig. And then it _clicked._  
  
    “Steve,” Sam called, gesturing for him to come closer. “You drunk, man?”  
  
    “Not yet,” Steve replied, taking the flask back from Bucky. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes were shining, and he somehow looked simultaneously pretty … and pretty drunk. Or not-all-the-way drunk.  
  
    “You okay?” Sam said, knowing that both he and Bucky had had a lot more practice getting fucked up than Steve had. “The fuck _is_ that shit?”  
  
    “From Tho-- from…” Steve gestured upward; anyone watching might think he meant God. Well… he meant _a_ god, anyway. “‘S the strongest one they got.”  
  
Sam bit back a laugh; the Brooklyn was seeping into Steve’s voice now that he wasn’t so carefully controlled, and Sam was _loving it._  
  
    “That safe for normal humans?” he asked a little more quietly, leaning back so that Bucky could hear him. Bucky shook his head, sharing a rueful look with Steve.  
  
    “Nat said that ...y’know, th’ guy. Space guy. Says it’s a _drop_ and ya on yer ass.”  
  
Sam made a face, but who was he to begrudge Steve getting his buzz on on his damn birthday? Steve looked pretty damn happy, taking another big gulp from the flask-- but he was shifting about oddly, like his feet hurt.  
  
Oh, god.  
  
Oh god, was that dancing? Was that Steve’s dancing?  
  
    “C’mere, birthday boy,” Sam called, almost unwilling to believe what he was seeing. Steve never, ever danced beyond tapping his foot to a song that he liked.  
“Wanna dance?” Sam asked, half-expecting a hasty “No” as usual… but Steve just grinned cockily.  
  
    “Yeah, I’ll dance,” he said confidently. “‘M a _great_ damn dancer.”  
  
\---  
  
He was very much not, but luckily the people near him had enough self-preservation to dodge of out of the way when Steve started to _really_ get his groove on.  
  
\---  
  
Bucky had ‘graciously’ left a mouthful of the space-vodka (or whatever the fuck it was) for Steve and wandered off after Nat. She’d found a 23-year-old Russian painter and was having a heated discussion with her when Bucky swayed his way over, joining in without a hitch. Were they angry? No? Maybe? There was a lot of hand-waving, anyway. Clint was trying to keep an eye on things-- not because of Bucky, but Nat had just slammed her hand on the table--  
  
Oh, they were laughing. Although to be honest, Clint was more distracted by the tall woman who was talking to him. She’d apparently been taken with his danc--oh. Amused. Amused by his dancing. He flashed his best dopey smile, letting his eyes travel the length of her long legs. She was a full head taller than him.   
  
_Damn._  
  
She was watching him with a raised eyebrow and a look that could either be “I am going to slap you” or “Let’s get outta here.” Clint chanced it.  
  
Nat only looked up briefly and half-waved when Clint shouted and gestured that he was leaving with the woman.

 _Score. Shit. Wait. That never happens. Something’s gotta go wrong._ (It wouldn’t. At least not until the next morning, when she would, strangely enough, steal three one of his DVDs and his favourite coffee mug while he was still passed out.)

 

Sam was finding out first-hand that Steve wasn’t good at fast songs, but… but he could manage slower tempo things, as long as the dance was simple. Sam’s head was swimming; not just from booze or from smoking, but because Steven Grant Rogers could _grind_ . No fancy footwork, no, but the man had a firm grip on Sam’s hips and _jesus fuck_ , whatever Sam had expected from Steve in terms of his dancing prowess, this had been at the bottom of the list.  
  
Way, way at the bottom.  
  
Like, Sam was worried he’d have to learn the Charleston.

Sam turned to face Steve, who looked-- _intense._

    “You okay?”  
  
    “Me? I’m fine-- just--”  
  
    “ _Yo,_ ‘Stevie’--” Natasha paused to laugh-snort “-- me and James are leaving.”   
  
Steve glanced up, frowning slightly. “Leavin’? Why for?”  
  
    “Secret.”  
  
    “ _Nat…_ ”  
  
    “No, s’rsly,” Bucky said, sidling up to the other three. “‘S a secret party. She’s takin’ us…” He gestured to the painter, who was shrugging into a jean jacket and kissing her friends goodbye. It was almost 2am, and the rooftop party was still going strong.  
  
Bucky moved a little closer, leaning to speak more quietly to Sam. “‘M gonna be back later tomorrow, so… y’know. Take yer time.”  
  
Sam looked blank.  
  
Bucky raised his eyebrows.  
  
_Oh. OH._ ** _Ohhhhhh._** He was giving Sam and Steve privacy for… oh. Sam felt a tiny flutter of nerves. He smiled a little and nodded at Bucky, who winked saucily. Steve looked between them, nonplussed.  
  
    “Y’sure, Buck?” he asked.  
  
    “Trust me. Gonna be busy. Hehhh, _both_ of us.”  
  
    “Barnes, get the fuck…” Sam sighed. Bucky leaned in and pressed a sloppy kiss to Sam’s lips, making Natasha wince, and then shared a long, lingering kiss with Steve that brought several “Whoooooo!”s from nearby partiers.  
  
     “Happy birthday, jerk.”  
  
    “Don’t do nothin’ _too_ stupid, Jimmy.” Bucky _hated_ that nickname, and he shot Steve a look full of playful loathing.  
  
Then he grabbed Sam’s ass.  
  
    “What the _fuck,_ Barnes!”  
  
    “Jus’ gonna miss it. Steve’s fuckin’ lucky.”  
  
Steve was frowning slightly, a ‘Wait, what…?’ look dawning on his face.  
  
    “‘Kay, we’re going,” Natasha said, standing on tiptoe to kiss Steve and Sam’s cheeks.  
  
Sam turned to Steve, who looked slightly perplexed.  
  
Doing his best to look nonchalant and totally innocent, Sam took Steve’s hand and gently tugged him towards the stairs.  
  
    “Want some birthday cake?”

\---

    “Sam--”  
  
    “ _Oh-- god-- Sam--_ ”  
  
    “Sam, _wait--_ ”  
  
Sam pulled away, stilling his hand on the buckle of Steve’s belt.  
  
    “You okay?”  
  
    “Ye-- no-- listen. Sam. Look… you don’t have to…”  
  
Sam dropped his hand. All this hype, and Steve didn’t even want--  
  
Steve saw the look on Sam’s face and hastened to correct the misunderstanding. “Sam… there is nothing, and I mean _nothing_ that I want more than to have you--”  
  
Sam took a shuddering little breath in at the way Steve’s voice got just a little deeper, a little rougher.  
  
    “--but I don’t want you to feel like you _have_ to.”  
  
Sam frowned slightly. “What…?”  
  
Steve took both of Sam’s hands in his, the look on his face earnest. “It’s my birthday, and… I mean, we haven’t-- I just didn’t want you to feel pressured.”  
  
Sam felt his heart break a little bit. The man was just so _good_ , it hurt sometimes.  
  
    “I had fun at the party. More fun than I think I’ve had in years, and I’m okay with--”  
  
Sam cut him off by leaning forward and pressing his lips to Steve’s.  
  
    “Steve,” he murmured. “That’s… thanks. Fuck… you’re so-- Thanks for asking. But I do. I want this.” He couldn’t help but smile a little, because he knew the effect that his next words would have on Steve.  
“I want _you._ ”  
  
\---  
  
Sam had intended to treat Steve (so to speak) as a ‘gift’ of sorts, but Steve had other ideas.  
  
The soft R &B playing on the stereo (surprisingly, Steve’s choice) was certainly doing nothing to cover the low moans and occasional swears, courtesy of Sam.  
  
Who knew Cap was into eating ass?

  
    “You… want to do what?” Sam had said upon exiting the shower. Steve had already had one himself and was stretched easily on Sam’s bed, looking like something that would make a sculptor’s hands twitch.  
  
Steve smirked. “You heard me.”  
  
    “That’s…!”  
  
    “Not interested? It’s okay if n--”  
  
    “I didn’t say… that… just where’d you…”  
  
    “Your generation didn’t _invent_ sex, y’know.”  
  
Sam’s eyebrow remained raised.  
  
    “...okay, I saw it on the internet.”  
  
    “Thought so. And you… you wanna…?”  
  
    “Mhm.”  
  
Suddenly a little shy, Sam sat on the edge of the bed. “But… why?”  
  
Steve sat up, pressing soft kisses to Sam’s back and shoulder.  
  
    “Sam, have you _seen_ your ass?” he asked simply.

 

And now, Sam was facedown in his bed, unable to remember his own name because Steve was good at almost everything (sans cooking and complicated dance moves) and this was no fucking exception.  
  
It felt kind of … weird. Sam had done it a couple of times, but he’d shied away from being on the receiving end so far. It seemed _so_ intimate… and it was. Sam squirmed a little uncomfortably at the first gentle, tentative swipe of Steve’s tongue, but Steve had hummed with pleasure and pressed a small kiss to Sam’s skin.  
  
    “Okay?”  
  
    “I’m… maybe.”  
  
    “Want me to stop?”  
  
    “No…”  
  
And _god_ , yeah, it still felt kind of weird, but… the little sounds Steve was making, like _he_ was getting off, and the firm way he was gripping Sam’s ass and slowly, weird melted into _good_.

    “Hhh-- I-- don’t… you want me to--” Sam felt selfish; Steve was doing all the work, and it was _his_ damn birthday.  
  
    “I _want you_ to arch your back a little more,” Steve said with just the tiniest edge of command in his voice.  
  
And that was that.  
  
  


Sam was pressed against Steve’s side, feeling like he was made of jelly, and Steve couldn’t have looked more smug.  
  
    “You’re not tired?” Steve asked softly, idly trailing his fingers up and down Sam’s arm.  
  
    “No,” Sam yawned, making Steve chuckle softly.  
  
    “Let’s go to bed.”  
  
    “Nah, I’m good…”  
  
    “C’mon, Sam, you’re half-asleep.”  
  
Sam sat up with some effort. “You think I’m too _old_ to stay up all night, Rogers?”  
  
Steve knew better than to answer that.  
  
  
Sam scoffed and pushed lightly at Steve, urging him to lay back. He couldn’t help but feel a little bit triumphant when Steve’s eyes followed his every move, from him smoothly straddling Steve’s hips to him leaning down to trail kisses from his collarbone downwards… and okay, maybe Sam was showing off a little, moving his hips just so, very lightly raking his nails across the sensitive skin of Steve’s inner forearms. Yeah, maybe Sam knew some shit.  
  
Like how to use muscle control to lower himself _just_ slightly onto the head of Steve’s dick, just enough to hear Steve’s breath leave his body in a rush.  
  
Maybe Sam knew how to slowly work Steve’s rigid cock into himself with shallow rolls of his hips.  
  
Perhaps Sam took some initiative and pinned Steve’s arms above his head, both of them knowing that Steve wasn’t actually held there by Sam’s grip but hell if that mattered because Steve came apart then, moaning loud and deep and completely, totally undignified.  
  
It’s entirely possible that Sam leaned down again to roughly kiss and bite at Steve’s lips, and rumour has it that he murmured “Happy birthday” right before setting a pace that made big bad Steve Rogers cry out in a way that Captain America _never_ would.

 

If there was a little bit of that old darkness curling around the edges of Sam’s happiness… if there were tendrils of dark smoke drifting across the fuzzy, out-of-focus tranquility he was feeling… he could push it away. Steve’s strong arms were real, and he was here. Sam was fine.  
  
He was.  
  
On the plus side, they never _did_ get around to making that damn birthday cake, because morning sex exists.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: Cap, u freaky tho. 
> 
> Next time: domestic bliss!
> 
> Next next time: AND THEN I RUIN IT ALL :D
> 
> okay not really but there will be angst, my pretties.
> 
> P.s. shoutout to tumblr for 'binky' because that shit makes me WEAK.)


	21. oh, no more mischief with my mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, the sweet domesDICK life.

_Half-lidded blue eyes._ _  
_ _  
_ _No, green._ _  
_ _  
_ _No. Blue._ _  
_ _  
_ _His fingers slip into smooth blond hair._ _  
_ _  
_ _No. No, dark._ _  
_ _  
_ _No-- sandy brown._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Sam…”_

 _  
_ _  
_ _The light of the setting sun is slanting through the blinds and  
  
_ _It’s overcast and dark  
  
_ _The lamp a few bunks down is the only light source  
  
_ _Music from next door pounding through the wall  
  
_ _Silence all around them  
  
_ _Soft snoring all around them  
  
  
  
_ _“Sam, can I…”  
  
_ _“Sam, god--”  
  
_ _“Sam.”  
  
  
  
_ _Green-- no, blue… blue eyes on his face, longing darkening them._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Can you what?” Sam returns teasingly_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Mhm...” Sam purrs, his hands sliding down the other man’s body_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Yeah?” Sam whispers in the dark, his heart hammering_

 _  
_ _  
_ _The man laughs, runs his fingers through his blond hair_ _  
_ _  
_ _runs his hand through his long brown hair_ _  
_ _  
_ _runs his hands through his short sand-coloured hair_ _  
_ _  
_ _  
_ _  
_ _“You know…” he murmurs, looking at Sam like he’s the only person in the universe_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Please,” he sighs, his body arching to meet Sam’s_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Can I kiss you?” the other man says, his voice almost too quiet to hear_ _  
_ _  
_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Yes,” he says to Steve, leaning down_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Yes,” he moans against Bucky’s skin_ _  
_ _  
_ _“..............yes,” he says to Riley, his hands shaking in the darkness of the barracks._ _  
_ _  
  
_

Sam’s eyes shot open and he lay in bed as his alarm went off, wondering why his hands were still shaking.

 

\---

  
_“Barnes is coming over soon. You wanna come by later?”_  
  
    “With you and Bucky? Is that okay?” Steve glanced at Bucky, who was intently reading something online. Hearing his name, he looked up and signed “ _What?_ ”  
  
    “I didn’t have plans,” Steve continued on the phone, “but if you two want time alone I’m okay to stay in.” As he spoke, he hastily signed “ _Talking to Sam._ ” Bucky nodded and went back to the article he was reading, half-listening to Steve’s conversation.  
  
He split his time between Sam and Steve’s apartment, not seeing much point in getting his own place if he had two perfectly good rooms in two nice apartments with two incredibly attractive men. Shuffling from place to place was no trouble for Bucky; he was used to it, and it was the best solution for now.  
  
It wasn’t as though the three of them had a big house with white picket fences in their future.  
  
Sam was kind enough not to point out that Steve almost never had plans.  
_“Ask your… ask **our** man if he’s okay with it,”_ Sam replied. _That sounds so weird._ _“Yeah, come by, man. Gonna cook, play some games.”_ He suddenly brightened, or at least his voice did. _“You should play. I’ll **fuck you up**.”_  
  
    “Uh… you know I _have_ an Xbox, right?” Steve was grinning as he caught Bucky’s attention, pointing and signing something along the lines of “ _Can I come by later?_ ”  
  
Bucky gave a thumbs-up.  
  
  _“Doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass,”_ Sam half-laughed. _“Fine; come by at like 8, 9. Bring beer.”_  
  
    “Okay. Wait-- what kind?”  
  
    _“Any kind, as long as you don’t let fuckin’ Barnes pick it.”_  
  
Steve shuddered. “Hell, I never let him pick the beer. He’d drink carbonated sewer water.”  
  
Bucky held up his middle finger without looking away from the computer screen. No translation needed there.

\---

 

 _“Can I kiss you?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _His eyes were a pale green, and were anxiously scanning Sam’s face, lingering on his lips._ _  
_ _  
_ Sam jerked upright as he heard the key in the front door. _Get it together, shit.  
  
_

    “Door’s open!” he called over the sizzle of onions. Bucky poked his head in, taking in the smell of spicy curry and sauteeing onions and garlic. Sam’s record player was on full blast, something full of bass and rhythm from the 70s. Bucky took off his shoes (it had become habit by now) and stepped into the kitchen, pausing to grab two bottles of beer from the fridge.  
  
_Get your shit together._ Sam turned slightly to kiss Bucky, greeting him with a slightly distracted “Hey, baby. Open one of those beers for me? I’m sweatin’ like a pig in here…”  
  
Bucky practically beamed. “You just called me ‘baby.’ First ‘babe,’ now this. You got a crush on me or somethin’?” His grin remained firmly in place as he used the thumb of his metal hand to flick the bottle cap off a beer.  
  
Sam looked revolted. “The _hell_ I called you ‘ _baby,_ ’ Barnes.”  
  
    “You did.”  
  
    “Fuck off and rinse the rice.”  
  
Bucky complied, still grinning. “Yeah, no, you called me ‘baby,’ Sam.”  
  
    “Shut the fuck up, James Buchanan Barnes.”  
  
    “You called me ‘baby’ because you got some kinda weird _thing_ for me.” Bucky was being silly, enjoying teasing Sam-- but really, he was quietly thrilled that Sam had, accidentally or not, called him a pet name that wasn’t “asshole” or some variation thereof.  
  
Sam nudged Bucky’s butt with his foot. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Barnes.”  
  
    “You think I’m _cute_?”  
  
    “Maybe in bad lighting after I've had a few. Now put the damn rice on the stove or you’re eating it raw,” Sam retorted. He added water to the large pot along with chopped vegetables and a healthy amount of curry powder and spices, watching it bubble slowly with a satisfied nod. No sooner had he put the lid on the pot and lowered the flame than Bucky was behind him, slipping his arms around his waist.  
  
    “Missed you,” he said simply, pressing his lips to Sam’s neck. Sam rolled his eyes, but was unable to hide a smile.  
  
    “I saw you, what, two days ago?”  
  
    “You saw _Steve_ two days ago,” Bucky all but pouted. “You saw _me_ on Sunday.”  
  
    “Awww, sorry, baby,” Sam simpered, turning to give Bucky a proper kiss. “I know you miss my cooking.”  
  
    “You called me ‘baby’ again.”  
  
    “That doesn’t count, it was sarcasm!”  
  
    “It counts.”  
  
    “ _Fuck_ no.”  
  
    “Can’t believe you mixed me up with Steve,” Bucky muttered. Sam playfully nipped at his lower lip before replying.  
  
    “I’d never mix you two up, Barnes. You’re totally different.” Sam freed one hand to pick up his beer bottle and take a swig.  
“For one, _you’re_ fucking annoying.” Sam grinned and went to take another drink, but Bucky poked him in the stomach, making him flinch and spray beer out of his mouth and nose. Bucky, not caring that his shirt was now covered in beer, roared with laughter as Sam sputtered and coughed, trying unsuccessfully to mop at his own shirt with a paper towel.  
  
“See?” Sam finally wheezed, swatting Bucky’s arm. “You fuckin’ _suck._ ”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
    “What made you wanna work at the DVA?” Bucky asked, pressing his thumbs into Sam’s shoulders. Sam groaned with pleasure and rolled his neck; he was seated on the ground between Bucky’s knees and thoroughly enjoying a massage as their dinner cooked in the kitchen. The TV was on, the sound turned down low as the two men talked.  
  
    “Why’re you asking?”  
  
    “Like knowin’ about you,” Bucky replied, running his thumb firmly up the back of Sam’s neck. Sam made a sound between disgust at Bucky’s affection and ecstasy as his tension melted away.  
  
    “Well…” he paused, thinking. “After… after Riley, I kinda went into a tailspin. Went to a dark place… didn’t see anyone or anything but my mom and Anaya for months. Some days it seemed like… like I wouldn’t make it. I didn’t _want_ to make it.”  
  
Bucky’s hands slowed, coming to rest on Sam’s shoulders. “Jesus,” he said quietly. Neither he nor Steve had had any idea how messed Sam had gotten; he tended to keep that kind of thing deeply buried.  
  
    “Yeah…” Sam half-shrugged, turning his head to kiss Bucky’s hand. He resisted the urge to say that he _still_ had bad spells sometimes, and could almost feel one nipping at his heels… no. No. Instead, Sam heaved a small sigh.  
“Anyway… that scared me. Mom needed me. My sister needed me. Anaya needed me. So I started seeing someone… talked about the shit I saw. About Riley. And they told me about the Department of Veteran Affairs….”  
  
Bucky made an affirmative noise to show that he was listening.  
  
“Went to meetings. It helped… but I wanted to, y’know. Help people. They didn’t have enough counselors to deal with all the vets that needed help, so… I went to training. Helped take my mind off things… give me a purpose, y’know? And then I realized…” Here Sam paused, laughing a little self-consciously. “I’m pretty good at it.”  
  
Bucky leaned forward to kiss the top of Sam’s head, briefly taking in the faint smell of shampoo, curry from the kitchen, and _Sam_.  
  
    “You’re a good man, Sam.”  
  
    “Heh… whatever.” Sam tilted his head back and was rewarded with an upside-down forehead kiss.  
  
    “You are. Even without a wingpack or that stupid fuckin’ Avengers costume. You’re a hero.”  
  
There was a short pause.  
  
    “ _Fuuuuuck_ ,” Sam said, doubling over with laughter. Bucky joined in, lightly shoving at Sam’s shoulder.  
  
    “Okay, that was pretty bad. But I mean it.”  
  
    “Jesus, Barnes. I mean… thanks.”  
  
    “I love you.”  
  
    “I know.” Sam grinned, never able to resist an opportunity to mimic Han Solo. “I love your dumb ass too,” he said quietly, knowing how much hearing the words meant to Bucky.  
  
    “Good. Hey, wanna fool around before Steve gets here?”  
  
    “Dude. Learn how to segue.”  
  
    “Is that a ‘no’?”  
  
    “ … lemme turn the heat down on the curry.”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
    “What’s with the bag?”  
  
Bucky reached over and picked up the small black cloth bag that he’d placed on the bed beside them.  
“It’s… uhm…”  
  
Sam raised his eyebrows. _Hoo boy. Is it something really freaky?_ Sam wasn’t exactly vanilla, but…  
  
    “Got it from the Internet,” Bucky mumbled, making Sam’s eyebrows go even higher.  
  
    “Lots of stuff online, Barnes. Some of it’s fun. Some ain’t for me. Why don’t you show me what it is?”  
  
Bucky held the bag out and Sam took it, a tiny bloom of anxiety appearing in his stomach. _What if it’s something I can’t handle?_  
  
In the bag was a ball gag and leather restraints, all clearly new. Sam looked between the bag and Bucky several times.  
  
    “Barnes.”  
  
    “Yeah?” Bucky could hardly meet his eyes, clearly afraid of what Sam’s reaction would be.  
  
    “This is _fine_ ,” Sam said, hiding his own relief. This wasn’t something he was completely unfamiliar with, and he was more than comfortable trying  it out.  
  
Bucky’s body language relaxed instantly. “Oh. Okay, good. Dunno how to get them on myself an--”  
  
    “Whoa. _Whoa._ These are for _you_?” Sam asked, genuinely surprised.  
  
    “Yeah…?” Bucky said, tilting his head in confusion. _Who else would they be for?_  
  
Sam nodded, his mind racing. He knew what had been done to Bucky by Hydra, knew of the gags, the restraints, the torture. He wasn’t sure how Bucky would feel about reliving it (minus the torture), even in a safe environment.  
  
    “Are you sure, Bucky?” he asked, causing Bucky to raise his own eyebrows (Sam always called him ‘Barnes.’)  
  
    “Yeah. I wanna try. I mean. If you can-- if you’re ok.”  
  
    “ _I_ can,” Sam reassured him. “But… this won’t take you to a bad place?” He kept his voice steady. He didn’t want to upset Bucky, for both the man’s mental health and the fact that he wasn’t okay with getting violently flung across a room if Bucky freaked out (he’d had his fill of that particular bullshit.)  
  
    “Don’t think so. It’s. I’m safe. You’ll take care of me. I trust you. I love you. I think. I think I need this. I didn’t like it. Before. With… them. But I think I will with you.”  
  
    “Have you told Steve?”  
  
Bucky shook his head. “Dunno if he’d understand.”  
  
Sam chewed his lip thoughtfully. “We can try,” he said finally. “Might be fun. But we gotta talk to Steve about it afterwards, if this is something you want regularly.”  
  
    “Yeah.”  
  
    “Okay.” Sam reached out and took Bucky’s hands. “How you wanna play this?”  
  
    “Uhm. I want you to be in charge,” Bucky said in a rush, looking away again. _Hmm._ This was a change; they usually went with the flow, switching roles or abandoning them altogether as they saw fit. _In charge. I can do that._

\---  
  
  
    “So a closed fist?”  
  
    “Means ‘stop’,” Bucky repeated.  
  
    “One finger up?”  
  
    “More.”  
  
    “And two?”  
  
    “More.”  
  
    “Three?”  
  
    “More.”  
  
    “And this?” Sam held up one hand, waving it side to side slightly.  
  
    “That’s ‘slow down.’”  
  
    “Good. And…?”  
  
    “Thumbs up for ‘feels good,’ thumbs down for ‘doesn’t feel good.’”  
  
    “Nice. All right, hand signals. Check. Okay, Barnes... when you say ‘in charge’ do you mean--”  
  
    “The whole time. Tell me what to do.” Bucky looked at him, unable to hide his excitement at the prospect.  
  
    “All right…” Sam sat up a little. “When do you wanna start?”  
  
    “Can we start now?” It was oddly sweet, how shy and eager Bucky was in that moment.  
  
Sam nodded and briefly closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in. His eyes snapped open and he relaxed, leaning back against the pillows. “Take your shirt off.”  
  
Bucky blinked. “Wh--”  
  
    “Take your shirt off. Now.”  
  
\--  
  
  
    “I know you can rip through these things like tissue, but play along…” Sam checked the tightness of the restraints; superhuman strength or no, there was no need for Bucky to be in discomfort.  
  
    “The whole damn _point_ is to play al--” Bucky began.  
  
    “Gonna need you to drop the fuckin’ attitude, Barnes.”  
  
Bucky opened his mouth, but Sam fixed him with a _look._

    “Don’t remember saying you could speak, baby,” Sam purred, gesturing for Bucky to sit up. Bucky fell silent immediately, his breathing a little heavy, his face a little flushed with excitement.  
“We ok?” Sam asked more quietly. Bucky gave a thumbs-up and Sam nodded, getting back to business.  
  
As Sam carefully buckled the gag at the back of Bucky’s head, he saw the man’s eyes flutter closed with pleasure. The look on Bucky’s face made Sam smile slowly. He loved learning new things.  
  
\--  
  
    Sam almost didn’t hear the knock at his door; Bucky was being uncharacteristically loud, moaning around his gag as Sam mercilessly fucked him. Bucky held up a third finger and Sam, panting, moved even harder, faster, rougher, seeing Bucky’s body tense up and his eyes roll back. He was close-  
  
The second knock at the door came just as Bucky did. He made short, almost pained sounds as his orgasm dragged on, Sam slowing the pace and reaching down to jerk him through the last of it. Finally, blinking sweat out of his eyes, Bucky shakily held up a fist. _Stop._ Sam slowed to a stop and carefully removed himself, moving quickly to free Bucky’s hands of the restraints and unbuckle the ball gag from his face. As Sam gently pulled the gag from his mouth, Bucky groaned.  
  
    “Barnes, gimme a thumbs up if you’re good,” Sam said breathlessly. Bucky gave him _two_ thumbs up, grinning despite the fact that he was still shivering slightly. Sam leaned down and gave him a kiss, not caring about the sweat covering them both. Bucky moaned quietly into his mouth and Sam smoothed his hair back from his forehead.  
  
    “That ok?”  
  
    “More… more’n okay,” Bucky answered, breathing heavily.  
  
    “Looks like I missed the party,” Steve said from the door. Sam looked up, startled, as Steve leaned against the doorframe, his eyes taking in the scattered condoms, bottle of lube, restraints, and the ball gag. Bucky was too worn out to do much more than loll his head to the side and grin weakly.  
  
    “Your invite’s in the mail,” Sam said. Steve scoffed playfully and stepped into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking in the scene in front of him. Sam moved over to kiss him in greeting, sending a condom wrapper fluttering to the ground, and Steve raised his eyebrows.  
  
    “Something new?” he asked, picking up the ball gag and inspecting it curiously. Bucky watched him, still too blissed-out to look worried.  
  
    “Yeah,” Bucky answered. “Sam was great.” Steve shot a surprised look at Sam, who looked smugly back at him. _Bet he didn’t think I had it in me._  
  
    “This somethin’ you interested in, Buck?”  
  
    “Mhm.”  
  
Steve nodded with a thoughtful look similar to the one Sam had worn earlier.  
  
_“I’m_ interested in a shower,” Sam said, moving to get off the bed. Sam felt like he spent half his damn life in the shower, but he had always been a little bit obsessed with personal hygiene. That, and he tended to be really fucking sweaty recently, thanks to two insatiable enhanced humans that had gotten all up in his business (sometimes up to four times in one day, in fact).  
  
Steve had no intention of letting him off so easily, pulling him into a long kiss as Bucky watched from his still-prone position, a sleepy smile on his face. When Steve finally released Sam to move over to Bucky, Sam had almost forgotten what he had been about to do in the first place.  
  
    “So,” Steve murmured, slowly dragging his fingers down Bucky’s stomach and smiling as Sam’s eyes hungrily followed the progress of his hand. “Who wants to show me how this stuff works?”  
  
\--  
  
    “Fuck!”  
  
    “Mhmmmm,” Steve hummed, lightly biting his lip as he slowly sank into Sam. Sam’s breath came raspily, his head between Bucky’s legs as he expertly swirled his tongue over the head of his cock. Bucky, who had the gag back in, moaned loudly.  
  
    “Ahh-- fuck. _Fuck_ \--” The rest of Sam’s sentence was muffled as his mouth engulfed Bucky’s cock, the intense pressure of Steve pressing into him making it hard to concentrate.  
  
So far, it had been a successful lesson.  
  
    “Good, Sam?” Steve asked calmly, despite the effort he was currently putting in. Sam moaned his approval, but that wasn’t quite good enough (and he knew it.) Steve didn’t hesitate, giving Sam’s ass a short yet sharp _smack._ Sam lifted his mouth off Bucky with a rude pop and breathed out hard, even as he looked back at Steve with a look that clearly said _more, god, please… you asshole._  
  
    “Tell me.”  
  
    “Yes…”  
  
Bucky, though he was barely able to think straight, watched them closely; he’d never seen Sam and Steve together before, and they were so different from what he’d imagined. The ways that they moved around each other, spoke to each other, was nothing like how they acted outside the bedroom. Both Sam and Steve were unlike Bucky in that they didn’t ~~kiss and tell~~ fuck and divulge every grisly detail to their other boyfriends, so Bucky had had to make up his own ideas. He’d been… way off.  
  
Sam cried out softly as Steve gripped his hips more roughly.  
  
    “‘Yes’? And?” Steve’s voice was gentle, but had just enough command in it to drive Sam crazy (Steve had quickly found the perfect balance between ‘Yes yes _yes_ ’ and ‘The fuck did you just say to me, Rogers?’ for Sam.)  
  
    “And … and-- fuck, _fuck_ , don’t stop--” Unable to say anything more coherent than that, Sam returned his attentions to Bucky. Watching the other two interact had been more than enough, and the return of the wet heat of Sam’s mouth…  
  
    “Fuck--” Sam had been unprepared for Bucky’s orgasm, but he got his footing back, greedily sucking as Bucky squirmed beneath him. Steve was watching, just barely holding back himself as he watched Bucky’s face, watched the muscles in Sam’s back as he moved.  
  
Bucky mumbled something around the ball gag, pointing at Sam. He was breathing heavily, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to hold off his own impending orgasm. Steve understood Bucky-- _Sam’s close_ \-- and reached around, gripping Sam’s cock firmly and increasing his pace. Sam was being a little stubborn on purpose, biting hard on his lower lip to keep himself from coming. Steve slowed down, feeling Sam tense up slightly, and kissed his neck as he breathed shakily.  
  
    “Wait…” Sam gasped. Steve immediately decreased his pace and then paused, gently kneading Sam’s ass. Somewhat awkwardly, Sam extricated himself from Steve and Bucky and gestured for Steve to lie down. This he did, his eyebrows raised in query. When Sam straddled his hips and slowly sank onto his cock, Steve groaned low and deep. Biting his lip as he teetered the line of pleasure and pain, Sam shared a look with Bucky, who moved closer so that Sam could take off his gag. After, Buck leaned down and kissed Steve, lowering a hand to pinch at a nipple. Steve let out a dirty little grunt as Sam moved his hips more confidently, getting used to the feeling; Bucky sat up to kiss Sam, his hand still occupied with sweetly torturing Steve.  
  
    “Oh, _god,_ ” Steve soon moaned, seeing Sam throw his head back as he drove himself closer to yet another orgasm. Bucky was keeping himself busy, licking and biting at Sam’s lips, one hand slowly stroking Sam as Sam fucked himself on Steve’s cock.  
  
    “Ah--” Steve went silent as he came, his hands gripping Sam’s hips painfully tight, his back arching slightly. Sam thought he would never walk right again, if the sex drives of his boyfriends were always this high (they were.) _Maybe I can live with that.  
  
_ The room was briefly silent save for the occasional moan, and a lot of heavy breathing. Bucky made a big show of slowly licking his hand before leaning to share a deep kiss with Steve, the taste of Sam on their lips…  Sam watched, still astride Steve. _This is some kinky shit._ His cock tried valiantly to stir to attention again, but--  
  
    “Uh,” Sam panted, “ow. Ow. Ow ow _ow._ ” With some difficulty, he lifted himself off Steve and all but fell onto Bucky, who immediately wrapped him in a disgustingly sweaty embrace. _See, this is why I live in the shower._  
  
Steve was looking at both of them with something akin to wonder. “Holy shit.”  
  
    “Yep,” Bucky replied, slinging his leg over both of them. Sam felt like he might suffocate sandwiched between them, but he was also sure there were worse ways to go.  
  
    “Holy _shit,_ ” Steve repeated, still a little out of breath.  
  
    “Usually got a lot more to say than that,” Sam muttered. Steve laughed, touching Sam’s face and then reaching to tuck a lock of Bucky’s hair behind his ear.  
  
Steve finally caught his breath and sat up a little, clearly intending to speak.  
  
    “... _holy shit._ ”  
  
  
\--  
  
  
The curry was completely ruined by the time they dragged themselves from the bedroom. Sam had a lot to say on these two white boys who kept making him burn his damn food. Did they think groceries grew on trees?  
  
Yes, he _knew_ that a lot of them actually did grow on trees, Barnes. Shut the fuck up.  
  
And quit encouraging him, Steve. Just order a damn pizza. His back hurt.  
  
  
\--

As always, Steve and Bucky were up far earlier than Sam, but they were careful not to jostle him or talk loudly. It was only 5am, but they had already rested and recovered; Sam would likely be out until almost midday if they didn’t wake him.  
  
    “You tell him?” Bucky was saying quietly. They would usually have signed instead of speaking in order to keep quiet, but the hand movements would likely have shaken Sam awake.  
  
Steve, who was curled behind Sam as he usually was, smiled ruefully. “Not yet,” he murmured.  
  
    “You know damn well that you gotta, right?” Bucky asked quietly. They both went still as Sam moved slightly, sighing as he pressed back against Steve and nuzzled closer to Bucky’s chest. Complain though he might that they were overly-muscled furnaces, when he slept, Sam always sought out bodily contact with them and never slept more peacefully than when he was happily squished between the two.  
  
After checking that Sam was still sleeping, Steve risked talking again. “Yeah,” he said softly. Bucky looked thoughtful for a second before carefully reaching for Steve’s hand, trying not to shake Sam. Steve’s fingers closed around his and he squeezed lightly.  
  
    “You love him,” Bucky said simply, aiming a look that could only be called ‘tender’ at Sam’s sleeping form (and if Sam had been awake to see it, he’d’ve told Bucky to knock it the fuck off.) Steve rubbed his thumb over Bucky’s knuckles, smiling a little sadly.  
  
    “I do,” he replied. “I mean, yeah. I fell _hard_ for the guy.”  
  
    “You never do anything half-assed,” Bucky smiled. “You gotta tell him, though. Bet he knows already. But he likes to hear it… pretends he doesn’t.”  
  
    “Guess I’m just trying to figure out how to say it without sounding like an idiot. Or messing it up again.”  
  
    “I get it. I feel stupid when I try to tell him. But. I dunno. Easy to fall in love with this fuckin’ _asshole_ ,” he said, the last few words raising in volume. Steve’s eyes widened.  
  
    “Buck, you’re gonna wake--”  
  
    “He’s already awake.”  
  
    “How can you tell?”  
  
    “I can feel him giggling,” Bucky said, very lightly slapping Sam’s arm.   
  
Sam chuckled, not moving.  
“Okay, _fuck you_ , ‘giggling.’ Can you blame me for eavesdropping on how fucking _loveable_ I am?” Sam murmured, his face still pressed sleepily against Bucky’s chest. “And you two are the loudest whisperers I’ve ever heard.”  
  
    “We’re stealth _experts_ ,” Steve said, his voice full of fake chagrin. He suddenly rolled over, dragging Sam with him, and peppered his face and chest with kisses as Sam half-jokingly fought him off. Bucky watched with amusement, but he thoroughly ignored the ‘ _help me, dammit’_ look that Sam gave him, instead moving over to them to press a kiss to Steve’s bare shoulder and look incredibly smugly at Sam.  
  
    “ _You’re_ a fucking asshole,” Sam half-laughed at Bucky. “And _you’re_ a damn dope.” He made a face at Steve, which was rather ruined by his smile.  
  
    “So I hear.” Steve flashed his biggest, corniest, All-American Smile. Sam looked revolted and buried his face in his hands to hide his own smile as Bucky made gagging noises.  
  
_I like dopey.  
  
_     “Not a fan?” Steve asked, easily holding his body weight off of Sam. “Me being a dope?”  
  
_I’m a huge fan._  
  
    “I’m just not used to it, I guess. Barnes is still a huge jackass, so…” Sam jerked his head at Bucky, who responded with a wink and a middle finger held proudly aloft.  
  
Steve shook his head at the two of them.  
“Sorry,” he said to Sam, “I get kinda touchy-feely with people I love. Hope it doesn’t bug you. I can stop…”  
  
    “He’s lyin’,” Bucky interjected. “He never stops with the touchy-feely.” Steve shot him a playful glare as Sam made a face.  
  
    “It’s okay. It’s… kinda nice. Just not at work, because-- wait. Did you just say ‘love’?” The words had just sunk in; it was one thing to eavesdrop on them talking about Sam, but it was another thing entirely to hear the words said directly to him.  
  
    “Seems I did,” Steve said easily, kissing his way down Sam’s neck. Beside him, Bucky idly rubbed his leg, satisfying his urge to always touch Sam just for the sake of touching him.  
  
    “You don’t have to say anything back,” Steve murmured, nuzzling at Sam’s shoulder as he exchanged a slightly worried side glance with Bucky. “I know how I feel, is all. Have for a long time.” Just because he’d utterly fucked it up the first time didn’t mean that his feelings weren’t real.  
  
Sam’s heart thudded unevenly. _Shit. Shit shit shit._ How long had Sam looked at Steve and felt what could only be this same thing? How many years?  
  
Steve’s head was resting on Sam’s chest, so he could easily hear Sam’s heartbeat. “Sam. It’s ok. Take your time. It won’t change how I feel about you… I’ll respect whatever your answer is.”  
  
    “Yeah, don’t have a heart attack, old-timer.” Bucky’s voice was unusually soft even as he teased Sam, and his fingers traced up and down Sam’s thigh in an attempt to soothe his nerves.  
  
Steve moved out of the way as Sam sat up. Sam had a strange expression on his face for a fleeting moment-- almost sad-- but then he locked eyes with Steve, then Bucky. An unreadable intensity simmered just below the surface. The romantic gestures and the pampering were nice, but _this_ was what he’d needed to hear, plainly spoken. That it wasn’t just wishful thinking on his part. That he’d been on Steve’s mind all along. That despite the major fuckup that had occurred so long ago between them, that this was how he’d really felt for some time.  
  
That he was loved by _both_ of them, that he deserved this. Didn’t he? _Shit… I do, right?  
  
_ "Say it." Sam said the words so softly that anyone with average hearing would have missed it.  
  
There was no hesitation. "I love you, Sam."  
  
_"I love you, Sam."_   _Riley's voice was hoarse from lack of water, their bodies pressed together despite the searing heat of the desert._ _Sam met his eyes and_  
  
    “Okay,” Sam said, quietly. “I… yeah. Me too.”  
  
Steve’s face positively shone.  
  
    “ _Stop_ , you’re gonna make me sick,” Sam groaned, his cheeks burning.  
  
    “You love it; you're all red,” Steve teased, claiming Sam’s lips with his own. Sam struggled to mumble “I’m _not blushing._ ”  
  
Bucky laughed and lightly shoved Steve aside, eager for his own morning kisses. Steve rested his chin on Bucky's shoulder, and they both gave him comedically exaggerated looks of sickening adoration.  
  
    “Get the _fuck_ outta my house with that mess,” Sam grimaced. Steve and Bucky exchanged a look.  
  
    “Nah.” Their voices were a pretty good imitation of Sam’s ‘I’m not impressed’ drawl. _We really spend too much fuckin’ time together._  
  
    “At least go make coffee,” Sam grumbled, sinking back into bed.  
  
    “ _That_ we can do.”  
  
    “When I say ‘go make coffee,’ I’m talking to Barnes.”  
  
    “I know, Sam,” Steve sighed.  
  
    “Because you’re fucking horrible at making coffee.”  
  
    “I get it, Sam…”  
  
    “You can throw a huge metal frisbee and knock a motherfucker out at 50 paces, but you can’t make coffee.”  
  
    “All _right_ \--”  
  
    “ _When Captain America makes shitty coffee…_ ” Bucky sang, making Steve sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose.  
  
    “You guys know I didn’t give them permission to make that cartoon, and I hate that [damn song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cVU4HURKEXs).”  
  
    “Why d’you think we memorized it?” Sam grinned, sharing a mischievous look with Bucky before the other man snorted and slipped from the room to finally get started on their much-needed coffee.  
  
Steve gave a long-suffering sigh that turned into a soft laugh as he reached for Sam, giving him a sweet, lingering kiss.  
  
    “My coffee’s not as bad as all that,” Steve murmured as he kissed along Sam’s jawline.  
  
    “It’s worse,” Sam said, still a smartass despite the contented smile on his face.  
  
    “Guess I have to earn my keep in another way, since I’m such a bad cook and all…” Steve’s hands were busy, his fingertips barely brushing across Sam’s skin. Sam’s small sigh was swallowed in another languid kiss before Steve gently pushed him against the mattress, licking and biting at that one spot on Sam’s neck that made him squirm--  
  
    “--coffee, but did you want a bagel or-- _jesus_ , I’m gone for 3 minutes and you two start fuckin’ _again_?”  
  
Sam’s voice was strangely breathy. “You can bitch about it or you can come over here, Barnes.”  
  
Steve hummed in agreement (he’d have said something, but a gentleman never talks with his mouth full.)  
  
Bucky pretended to think about it.  
  
    “Move over, then.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (notes: First things first: PLEASE listen to that awful Captain America song linked in the fic. I can't be the only one to suffer, okay
> 
> Longest chapter ever? Sure feels like it. 
> 
> This fic is stupid long, y'all. I'll start wrapping it up fairly soon, though. I'm like thiiiiis close to being sick of the damn thing. Next update won't take as long!
> 
> I've been reading fic by writers far better than I, and slowly losing the will to write. But here we are. I'll do my best.
> 
> I'm also not above admitting that kudos and comments give me motivation to plow through this beast, so... 
> 
> Thanks for the support!)


	22. i'll be frozen here on, pt. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ALL ABOARD THE SAD TRAIN. One of our boys isn't doing so hot. (Heads up for depression, y'all. No self-harm or anything, but still.)

It was almost a relief when it finally happened. Sam was so damn _tired_. It was tiring to grin and laugh and… hell, just exist. He felt like his head was full of an expanding bubble of nothing, pressing behind his eyes. Making his jaw tighten whenever it threatened to explode and take him with it.  
  
It was a relief.  
  
    “Sam, what’s wrong?”  
  
It was such a relief. He could settle into the grey fog. He knew how to do that.  
  
    “Sam?”  
  
Steve touched his shoulder, his eyes softly concerned, and Sam didn’t feel anything but faintly annoyed. Steve looked so damn _sad_ sometimes. The three of them were so fucking sad, Jesus.  
  
    “I’m okay, Steve. Just a lot of stuff on my mind.”  
  
    “Like what?”  
   
    “Work stuff.” Sam felt the urge to smile as he lied, to reassure Steve… but it dissipated like the steam from their boiling kettle. “Water’s ready,” he murmured. Steve looked like he wanted to say something, but Sam was already looking out the window again.  
  
It was a fucking relief. He’d been teetering on the edge of this… lake of bullshit, of ‘oh-shit-why-am-I-crying- _now_ ,’ he was tired, and he’d lost his footing.  
  
He sank into it like a warm bath.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
_B.: u free 2nite?_ _  
__  
__SAM W.: nt rly_ _  
__  
__B.: you ok?_ _  
__  
__SAM W.: yea. sry barnes, rly tired. work was stupid 2day._ _  
__  
__B.: can i call you_ _  
__  
__SAM W.: goin to bed, bt mayb 2moro_ _  
__  
__B.: ok. u sure youre ok?_ _  
__  
__SAM W.: lmao r u my mama now_ _  
__  
__B.: not my kink sry_ _  
__  
__SAM W.: bruh. u aint right. night_ _  
__  
__B.: [heart emoji]_  
  
Sam didn’t respond. He rolled over in bed, watching that one streetlight that was always on the fritz flicker off, then on again.  
  
Off.  
  
Thirty-four seconds, then it sputtered back to life.   
  
He rolled onto his back, tired of watching the damn lamp play out his fucked-up brain. Off, then on. _Fuck you too, pathetic fallacy._ His high-school English teacher would have been impressed.  
  
The ceiling had a long stripe of pink light from the nearby neon sign. He stared at it until it left after-images when he blinked. His limbs felt heavy, like even his wings wouldn’t be able to drag him skyward.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
The anniversary of Riley’s death dawned beautiful, with a clear blue sky, crisp clean air and colourful autumn leaves skipping along the sidewalk. Sam stretched his arms above his head, not even minding the various cracks and snaps coming from his joints today. He’d woken up feeling … well, _feeling._ That was good. He could handle today, smile at his co-workers without wanting to take a 4-hour nap after every interaction.  
  
Bucky was over at Steve’s, he had a fairly light day at the office (maybe he'd even eat lunch today!), and he was itching to get a little flying done in the early evening. It had been a while since he’d taken his wings out. Maybe the wind would whip the fog in his head away (he knew it wouldn’t, but still.)  
  
  
Sam felt good right up until he glanced at his phone and saw the date.   
  
It was like someone had punched him in the gut and dumped ice water on him simultaneously. _I almost forgot. I almost fucking forgot._ His mind had been trying to warn him, prepare him for today, and Sam had just rolled over and played dead.  
  
He’d learned ~~to live with the pain~~ how to act like could live with the pain, and most days he dealt with his shit all right, but… sometimes Riley was just _there_ , with that sad smile when their hands were so close but he couldn’t touch Sam because of the goddamn rules; sometimes it was the heartbreaking look on his ma’s face when he’d told her he was joining the Army (“Sammy, baby, don’t go, don’t leave me baby, you’ll get killed,”); sometimes it was seeing his father’s broad back as he ran towards the kids that would kill him while he tried to stop an argument from escalating; sometimes it was the sneer barely present on that one professor’s face whenever he looked at the only Black student in his class; sometimes, oh god, _sometimes,_ it was Anaya’s large eyes brimming with tears as Sam closed the door behind him; sometimes it was because his closest cousin died, she _died_ and Sam wasn’t there, he was off with the Avengers; sometimes it was the way some of his childhood friends didn’t even recognise him the last time he went back home, and sometimes it was just  
  
wrong. All wrong. Sometimes there was no goddamn reason, and that, _that_ was the worst.  
  
Today was all of the above. And Riley. Riley.  
  
He knew logically that dwelling on Riley’s death wouldn’t help. He knew logically that he’d built what he and Riley had had into the perfect relationship, Riley into the perfect man. The memories of their fights had faded, leaving only the stolen kisses, the little tokens of affection they’d leave in each other’s bunks. The one thing that didn’t fade, _wouldn’t_ fade, was Riley’s terrified scream as he fell. Sam didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t tell anyone that part. He couldn’t bear to see the look on their faces, the hastily hidden horror. Riley had screamed out for Sam-- whether out of fear for himself or for Sam, he’d never know-- and it was the last thing he’d said to Sam. Sam didn’t remember what he said in reply. Or if he said anything at all.  
  
It wasn’t his fault he was alive and Riley was dead. _It’s like I was up there just to watch._ Riley would want Sam to be happy. Riley had loved him. It wasn’t Sam’s fault. It wasn’t.  
  
Not that it mattered, really. None of this made his hands shake any less as he pulled on his black jacket. It didn’t keep his voice steady as he called off work. It didn’t make his eyes sting less when picked up the framed photo of him and Riley, looking at his dead boyfriend’s unchanged smiling face. The photo didn’t capture the way Riley slept with his arms and legs splayed; it didn’t capture what a good singer he was and how shy he was about it, only singing to Sam during their moments alone; it didn’t show how his face had lit up when Sam had pressed a mix CD into his hands, mumbling that the songs were for him. But Sam remembered.  
  
He should call… _Who? Your_ ** _new_** _boyfriends? Forgot all about Riley real quick._ Sam breathed out slowly to calm himself, knowing logically that he’d done no such thing.  
  
Logic didn’t help.  
  
He was still staring at his hands when his mother called.  
  
_“Hi, baby.”  
  
_     “Hi, ma.” Sam’s voice was dull, but she wouldn’t press him about that. She never forgot the date of Riley’s death, always made sure to call him.  
  
_"You okay?”  
  
_ Sam made a noncommittal grunt. His mother sighed softly; some years were easier for Sam than others, but it didn’t sound like this was one of them.  
  
_“You want me to come to the grave with you?”_ she asked quietly.  
  
Sam paused. _She would’ve gone to Riley’s grave and you almost forgot to show up.  
  
_     “That’s okay, ma.”  
  
_“Baby, are you sure? It’s--”_  
  
    “Yeah. I gotta go.” Sam felt a little bad being short with his mother, who was only trying to help, but he felt shitty enough without having to watch his mother be sad too. She’d liked Riley so damn much.  
  
_“Okay, Sam. I’ll go by tomorrow and leave some flowers.”_  
  
    “Thanks. He’d… he’d like that,” Sam said, his voice gentler now.  
  
After he ended the call, he saw that he’d gotten a text from Anaya.

_CHAHAL: u ok?  
  
_ Sam scowled as he grabbed his house keys and put his shoes on. He appreciated the concern, but it felt like the answer would never quite be anything other than “No.”  
  
_SAM W.: nt rly. going 2 c riley now._ _  
__  
__A. CHAHAL: want company?_ _  
__  
__SAM W.: no_ _  
__  
__A. CHAHAL: ok. call me later?_ _  
__  
__SAM W.: k.  
  
  
_ \---  
  
  
Sam rarely drove his car, a plain but reliable second-hand vehicle, since the city was so walkable and he enjoyed getting fresh air when he could. Today, however, he needed the glass and metal barrier between himself and others. He didn’t think he could stand people looking at him or talking to him just now, and he was too distracted to safely use his wings.  
  
He sat still for a long time, staring at the glove box. Inside was a thick book of CDs, and each year Sam listened to a different CD. It had been a gift from Riley shortly before he’d died. He’d claimed to be bored during one of his few weekends back home and had spent most of his time making Sam CDs, knowing that he craved new music. There were over two dozen discs.  
  
Sam didn’t know why he didn’t listen to them more than once a year, but some small part of him wondered if it wasn’t a punishment. _For letting him die._ Of course he didn’t _let_ Riley die. Of course.  
  
Sam looked at the CD briefly. Like all the others, it was just labelled with the number; no tracklisting or notes. Riley had wanted to listen to the CDs with Sam, tell him about the songs. He never got to. He never would.  
  
The [first track](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0jdcOXDl-bA) started up, the easily recognizable big drumline making Sam smile as he pulled out into traffic. Riley had loved everything from pop to R&B to classic rock, not caring how ‘masculine’ it was or wasn’t. He had been as likely to hum along to Madonna as he was to Led Zeppelin.  
  
_Okay. This isn’t too bad._ Some years the songs were mournful, or had lyrics that were too close to home, and Sam broke down. But this… he hummed a little, relieved that the first song, at least, was light-hearted enough.  
  
_'They don’t love you like I love you'_  
  
_Oh_. Sam turned left, his heart sinking. He’d been caught up in the upbeat sound, not paying attention to the lyrics… of course, of _course_ it wasn’t about him personally. Not like that. Riley had just been letting Sam know that he loved him. Nothing to read into there. _Would he think I forgot about him?_  
  
It was a long drive to the cemetery from his new apartment; about an hour. Plenty of time for Sam to feel haunted by the ghost of the man who’d loved him.  
  
\---  
  
Sam had been parked for almost 10 minutes. He knew he had to get out of the car and go to Riley’s grave, but he wanted to finish the CD, and the [last track](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5-55y1Xo-p0) had just started. Riley usually put a mushy love song last; he had never been afraid of his love for Sam and letting him know how he felt.  
  
The lyrics were like a knife in Sam’s chest.  
  
_'I hear the drizzle of the rain  
__it's falling from my window  
__and in the corners of my mind  
__I hope that I'll get to see you again'  
  
_ Sam blinked rapidly, already feeling tears prick his eyes. _Goddammit._ Of course Riley hadn’t known… of course… he was just being sweet, being Riley… _He didn’t know he wouldn’t see you again_. Of course he hadn’t-  
  
_'I hear the colors in the flowers  
__just like the candle snuffed at dawn  
__you're here, you're near, you're there and then you're gone'_  
  
Sam knew he should just stop the CD. It was too much. He felt like the car was closing in around him, he had a little trouble breathing, and he’d come alone. No one to cry on.  
  
_'suffering in sinking sand  
__all the hurt  
__see I'm really lost, baby  
__we suffered a rare, rare blue'_  
  
Sam took out his phone, hating how much his hands were shaking. This had been a terrible idea, coming alone. He was overwhelmed and he felt something dark slithering at the edges of his mind, but he didn’t unlock his phone and text anyone for backup. He didn’t eject the CD. He just listened, feeling like he was going to throw up.

_'so much hurt  
__on this earth  
__but you loved me  
__and I really dared to love you too  
__perhaps what I mean to say is...  
__is that it's amazing that your love was mine'  
  
_ The people who passed by Sam’s car on the way to the graveyard were too wrapped up in their own grief to notice the man sitting in his car, staring at nothing as tears freely streamed down his face.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Sam didn’t remember visiting Riley’s grave. He didn’t remember laying down some flowers. He didn’t remember quietly telling him that he missed him. He didn’t remember the hesitant way he’d told him about Steve and Bucky. He didn’t remember telling the gravestone “You want me to be happy. _”_ He didn’t remember the drive home. He didn’t remember playing the final track of the CD again and again, a sick kind of self-flagellation as the sweet voice of Janelle Monae cut deeper and deeper into Sam with each listen.  
  
He didn’t know what time it was when Steve called.  
  
_“Hey, Sam.”_  
  
    “Steve. Hey.”  
  
    “Buck’s here… put you on speakerphone?”  
  
Normally, Sam would have expressed greatly exaggerated surprise that Steve knew what speakerphone was. Instead, he muttered “Yeah.”  
  
_“Sam, you okay?”_ Bucky asked. Sam frowned. _Why’s he asking?_    
  
Of course. Hadn’t he himself given Steve the file containing details of his service? Including Riley’s death? They were checking on him. Just like everyone else today.  
  
_“Want us to come over? Or, uh... one of us?”_  Steve asked. Sam wanted nothing more than to see them. He wanted nothing more than to be left alone with his grief.  
  
    “I’m a little rough, but I’m okay,” Sam lied easily. He hadn’t turned on the lights in the apartment despite the sun having gone down, and his suit lay in a rumpled heap on the bedroom floor. He hadn’t eaten all day, and he didn’t have any appetite whatsoever. _Yeah. I’m ok._ _Sure._  
  
_“You sure?”_ Bucky’s voice was quiet, low as always-- but Sam could hear the concern.  
  
_Leave me alone. Don’t leave me._  
  
    “I’m good, guys,” Sam said. His voice sounded overly cheerful, fake, to his own ears. He hated it, but anything, _anything_ to avoid having to relive today, anything to not see the pity on their faces.  
  
_“Okay, Sam. You know if you need us…”_  
  
     “I know, Steve. Just need a little alone time. I’ll call you, ok?”  
  
_“Okay, Sam. Hey…”_  
  
    “Hmm?”  
  
_“We love you, okay?”_  
  
The words might as well have been physical blows. _Don’t deserve it._  
  
    “Thanks,” he just barely managed. He hung up, feeling another wave of tears. He tamped it down under a blanket of nothing as he put the CD into his stereo and skipped to the last track.

_'it's amazing that your love was mine'_ _  
  
_

The flick of his lighter was the only bright thing in the room. Just for a moment.  
  
  
_\---  
  
  
_ _'oh, Maker tell me did you know  
_ _this love would burn so yellow  
_ _becoming orange, and in it's time  
_ _explode from grey to black then bloody white'_

  
Sam blinked but didn’t move when he heard keys in his lock. Only a few people had copies of his apartment key, so it was either his mother, Anaya, Steve or--  
  
    “Sam,” Bucky called quietly. There was a small sound of tinkling metal-- Bucky had broken the chain on the inside of Sam’s door as gently as he could. He and Steve had given Sam his requested space for a few days, but they were too worried now to pretend to buy Sam’s weak ‘I’m fine!’ act.  
  
There was the rustle of paper as Bucky nudged aside the small pile of newspapers and junk mail that had accumulated. Sam felt the smallest surge of shame. What must his apartment look like? He hadn’t cleaned… but then, he hadn’t really been out of this room to even make a mess of the rest of the apartment.  
  
He heard Bucky’s careful footsteps coming toward him and curled in tighter on himself.  
  
    “Sam?”  
  
The bed sank a little as Bucky sat on the edge. Sam tensed up, awaiting a touch he wasn’t sure he wanted. It never came.  
  
    “Sam, it’s Barnes. Bucky. I’m here. Is that okay?”  
  
Sam didn’t respond, only moving his shoulders slightly in what could have been a shrug.  
  
    “You eat yet?”  
  
    “No.” Sam finally spoke, sounding mostly disinterested.  
  
    “I brought you something. Nothin’ fancy. Can you eat?”  
  
    “No.”  
  
Bucky nodded, unfazed. He’d been where Sam was before.  
  
    “Gonna leave it here. Eat when you can…” _For me_ , he wanted to add. “Okay if I stay? Just a little bit. Don’t have to talk.” Bucky was good at silence.  
  
Sam moved again, slowly rolling over to face Bucky. His eyes were red and exhausted-looking, his entire aura one of defeat. Bucky desperately wanted to touch him, reassure him. He didn’t know what to do; he and Steve had noticed what Sam had worked so hard to hide; his slow slide into a kind of dull fog. Any attempt to talk to him had been met with half-hearted smiles, hand waves, and eventually, silence.  
  
    “Okay.” Sam closed his eyes again and moved away from Bucky, making room. Bucky lay down, careful not to touch him, and listened to Sam’s breathing in the dark.  
  
    “You want to talk?”  
  
    “No.”  


Later, Bucky made a Thermos of tea for Sam to have later and neatened the pile of newspapers. Sam was breathing quietly in the room again, his CD still going as he pretended to sleep.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
The next day Steve came by, letting himself in with his key just as Bucky had. He heard soft music from Sam’s room, but all the lights were off and the curtains were drawn against the sunlight.  
  
    “Sam?”  
  
No reply. Bucky had warned him beforehand about Sam’s state, but it didn’t make Steve worry any less. When he stepped inside Sam’s bedroom, he was relieved to see wrappers from the protein bars Bucky had brought. Sam had at least eaten something in the last 24 hours.  
  
    “Hi Sam,” Steve said softly, kneeling next to the bed. The pile of blankets that was Sam shifted slightly, snuffling.  
“It’s Steve.”  
  
    “Hey,” Sam said dully. Steve carefully put down another bag of snacks, fruit and sports drinks. He didn’t ask how Sam was, for which Sam was grateful. _How the fuck do you_ ** _think_** _I am?_  
  
    “Want me to go?” Steve asked quietly.  
  
    “Yes.” Sam paused. “No.”  
  
    “Want to eat something?”  
  
    “No.”  
  
    “Okay.” Steve settled next to the bed, intending to sit on the floor, but Sam moved aside as he had for Bucky. Steve slowly sat on the bed, fidgeting with the bedsheet a little.  
  
He wanted to curl his body around Sam’s as he was used to doing, but he stopped himself at the last second. Sam probably didn’t want to be touched right now.  
  
    “Listen.” Sam’s voice was slightly muffled by all the blankets, but was still audible. Steve was puzzled, but he listened … and realised Sam was referring to the music playing. Bucky had told him about this too, the unbearably sad song that Sam listened to over and over.  
“It’s Riley’s,” Sam mumbled. “He made it for me.”  
  
    “It’s beautiful,” Steve said. _Beautiful and sad and really fucking you up._  
  
    “He loved me.” Sam’s voice was steady, but still monotonous.  
  
    “Of course he did, Sam.”  
  
    “I let him die.”  
  
Steve stiffened. “Sam, no, you didn’t-- you couldn’t--”  
  
    “I know,” Sam said simply. Steve understood; Sam was blaming himself for Riley all over again, although he knew logically that it wasn’t his fault. His survivor’s guilt was mixing with guilt over his new relationship, causing him to shut down. Between the three of them, there was enough baggage to fill an airport, but Sam had always kept his carefully secret, private. It had eaten away at him and he’d smiled the whole time.  
“Do you know the last thing he said?”  
  
    “Sam--”  
  
    “My name. He screamed my name. When he was falling.” Sam sounded so damn tired as he sat up, pushing the covers aside to look at Steve.  
“He loved me,” he said again.  
  
Steve nodded.  
  
“Didn’t show him enough. That I loved him.”  
  
    “I’m sure he knew, Sam,” Steve said. He wished he knew what to do to take his boyfriend’s pain away. Sam always helped everyone else; how could he help Sam now?  
“You don’t think you show it, Sam, but you do. Your smile… the way you do little things for people you love… even the way you pretend my cooking is bad--”  
  
Sam’s mouth twitched a little. It was almost a smile.  
  
    “We know you love us. I’m sure Riley did, too.”  
  
Sam looked away. He hadn’t been overtly demonstrative of his feelings for Riley in public, partially because of ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ had been in effect, and in part because Sam was naturally a private person. But if he’d shown it in other ways… if Riley had really known… Sam didn’t feel hope, not quite-- but the tight fist around his heart loosened ever so slightly.  
  
Steve put his hand on the bed, faceup. Leaving the decision to Sam. Sam’s hand was dry, warm from his body heat as he slipped it into Steve’s hand. They didn’t talk for the remainder of Steve’s visit. Sam didn’t cry.  
  
  
\---  
  
 

The next time Steve visited, two days later, Bucky was cautiously accompanying him. They could hear the shower going, but the apartment was still a mess (by Sam’s standards, anyway), the curtains were still drawn, and the air was stuffy and heavy. Steve exchanged a worried look with Bucky, the question of _‘What do we do?’_ seeming impossible to answer.

 

Sam stared at his fingertips, which had started to wrinkle from him being in the shower for so long. He’d gotten in, turned on the water, and… just stood there. He was losing a lot of time nowadays, and while part of him knew damn well that he needed to contact his therapist, most of him was the equivalent of a listless shrug. He knew all the ‘right’ things to do, it was finding the energy to do them that was the damn problem.  
  
Well, at the very least he could stop wasting his hot water. A long sigh escaped him as he reached for the towel. He was just… so… damn… tired.

 

Bucky was leaning against Steve, both of them reading something on Steve’s phone, when Sam emerged from the bathroom. He had on an old sweatshirt and torn jeans, and was in the act of drying behind his ears when he saw them and stopped short.  
  
    “Sam,” Steve said gently. He wasn’t sure what state of mind Sam was in. Sam frowned, hearing the tone in Steve’s voice.  
  
    “Not a scared animal. Don’t use the ‘there-there’ voice on me.”  
  
    “I’m sorry, Sam.”  
  
Sam slowly walked towards them, his face difficult to read in the darkness of the apartment. “No, I’m … no. Sorry. Not doing so great.”  
  
Bucky shifted, rolling his shoulders and tilting his head slightly.

    “It okay if we stay?”  
  
    “Yeah.” Sam flicked on a table lamp, picked up the remote and turned on the TV, the sudden riot of colour throwing eerie light across his features. He settled between Steve and Bucky on the couch and began flicking through the channels, not saying a word.  
  
They watched TV for a few hours. Steve and Bucky occasionally saw Sam swipe angrily at his face as tears escaped seemingly at random, but he didn’t make a sound. Neither did they. What could they say?  
  
    “Thanks,” Sam said later that night, speaking for the first time in almost 3 hours.  
  
    “Sam…” _I love you and I know what it’s like and it’s fucking killing me seeing you like this._ Bucky didn’t say any of that, not wanting to heap the burden of his own feelings on Sam.  
  
Steve was watching Sam, who was using the sleeve of his sweatshirt to wipe irritably at his face, who was doing everything in his power to pretend that he wasn’t crying in front of them, and -- he just couldn’t take it anymore. He knew that Sam wouldn’t ask for help easily-- like Steve, he had looked out for others so long that he usually ignored himself.  
  
    “Doesn’t look like you’ve been sleeping much, Sam,” he said, careful not to sound overly worried or chiding.  
  
    “Dunno.”  
  
   “Let’s get some rest, then.” Steve was taking a risk and he knew it, but _god_ , Sam was falling apart in front of him and he felt his heart breaking a little more with every tear that rolled down Sam’s face unbidden.  
  
    “Let’s…?” Sam frowned a little, unsure of what Steve was getting at. Bucky flicked the barest of glances at Steve, but didn’t say anything.  
  
    “Yeah. If you go settle in, Buck and I will stay-- well, we’ll shower--”  
  
That, at least, got a tiny ghost of a smile out of Sam, who always complained that they smelled like ‘outside,’ whatever the hell _that_ meant.  
  
    “I’ll make some of that gross KD you like,” Bucky offered, cottoning on.  
  
    “‘Gross’? Look who got uppity ‘bout his food,” Sam said, his mouth trembling a little as he tried to make his voice sound normal.  
  
    “It’s _gross_ , an’ this is coming from a guy that grew up dirt-poor, in a place where salt _and_ pepper was cookin’ _fancy_ .” Bucky was exaggerating, of course, but the intended effect was achieved-- Sam let out a sound that, while containing traces of a sob (Steve’s heart clenched), was awfully close to a laugh.  
  
    “Fuck you, Barnes.”  
  
    “ _I_ like KD,” Steve offered mildly, knowing what was coming. Sam gave him a subtly grateful look. They could do this. They could tease and joke and… the other stuff could come later.  
  
    “Shit, if _you_ like KD then I should raise my mac ‘n’ cheese standards,” Sam said, sniffling a little. “What is this, a sleepover? You guys gonna build m-me a blanket fort…?” Sam stuttered a little, made an odd face, and then started crying properly, for no reason he could name ( _Don’t deserve this don’t deserve them._ ) He didn’t move away and Steve and Bucky crowded him, folding him into their overly-warm embrace.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
At 3:07am, Sam took a shuddering breath and spoke into the darkness.  
  
    "I need your help.”  
  
Steve pulled him closer to his chest, murmuring comfortingly, and Bucky shifted closer behind Sam, saying with a shoulder squeeze what he couldn’t put into words.

\---

    “You know it’s not your fault, right?” Bucky’s low voice was almost inaudible. He and Steve were flanking Sam, the three of them walking slowly through the park. It was a little after 4:30am on the same morning, and with the exception of one very startled early-morning jogger, no one was around.  
  
Sam didn’t respond to Bucky, instead fidgeting with his scarf and tugging his coat lapels up. The other two didn’t say anything, the strange silence of the pre-dawn making conversation sound unnaturally loud.  
  
    “Sam,” Steve said quietly, his breath misting slightly in the chilly air as he spoke. Sam closed his eyes briefly.  
  
    “I know it’s-- I know it’s not my fucking fault,” Sam muttered. “I know I couldn’t have stopped Riley from getting hit.” _You sure as shit didn’t stop_ **_Rhodey_ ** _from getting hit. Shit._ Sam’s sharp intake of breath made both Steve and Bucky start protectively towards him, but he waved them off.  
“I know he’s… gone, and it’s not my fault and yeah, sure, ‘Sam, he’d want you to be happy, he’d want you to move on,’ but really, what the _fuck_ do we know what he wants, because he’s _dead_ , and there wasn’t enough of him to fucking bury.” Sam finished with a surprisingly steady voice. He was sick of crying.  
  
Steve looked away for a moment, frowning slightly.  
    “Okay,” he said quietly, “Riley’s gone. Sam… we _don’t_ know what he’d want. But-- but, _shit_ \--”  
  
Both Sam and Bucky raised their eyebrows; Steve was no saint, but he certainly didn’t swear as much as the other two.  
  
    “-- if Riley loved you, and I’m… he couldn’t have _not_ loved you, Sam, I wish you could see yourself how we do, I-- damn.” Steve scowled, getting himself under control. “He loved you,” he said firmly. “And yes, it’s… maybe it’s corny to say he would want you to be happy, but it doesn’t _matter_ , Sam, it doesn’t even matter what he’d want.”  
  
Bucky squeezed Steve’s shoulder, calming him. The man was so earnest in everything, so sincere in his want to make Sam happy, that he could come across as a little… pushy.  
  
    “Sam. He. We mean. You deserve to be happy. No matter what. _You_ deserve it. Not ‘cause of what someone. Not… not ‘cause of what someone else mighta wanted. Because _you deserve to be fuckin’ happy._ ”  
  
Sam was staring between the two of them, clearly nonplussed. Then, suddenly, a shuddering laugh escaped his lips.  
  
    “You guys are sh-shitty counsellors,” he said, stammering a little as he struggled to get his voice under control. Bucky’s grinned at him, but Steve’s smile was sad.  
“T-tough crowd,” Sam quipped weakly. He suddenly felt cold, shivering slightly. Steve and Bucky were near him in seconds, rubbing his arms and adjusting his hat. It was very sweet. It was also way more attention than he could handle at the moment, and he backed away, smiling apologetically.  
“I hear what you guys are saying,” he finally said. “I hear it, and I know you mean it, but I… shit, my mind won’t _let_ me believe it.” His voice was quiet, but the words were clear in the still air.  
  
    “Sam,” Steve said, looking heartbroken, “do you always feel like this? Not believing…” he gestured between the three of them. Sam half-shrugged, and that was answer enough.  
  
Bucky was also doing a surprisingly bad job of hiding how sad that news made him, but he nodded slowly. “You should. I dunno… you should talk to someone, Sammy.”  
  
    “Firstly, ‘Sammy’ is a no-go because _ma_ calls me that,” Sam replied, trying to smile. “And second… I… shit. I mean, I… yeah. Okay.” His voice was very small now.  
“I'll... get help. Shit.” He’d thought he had his shit together, Counsellor Wilson, Avenger, nice apartment, he was dating…  
  
And all of that apparently meant jack-shit to his brain.  
  
“Think Stark would put anti-c-crying tech in me if I asked nice?” Sam said, trying to dispel the awkwardness of him fucking crying _again_ .  
  
Bucky looked at the ground. “Trust me, you don’t want that taken from you.” Sam looked horrified for a second, but Bucky hastily shook his head-- _Don’t worry about it_ \-- and gave Sam a quick peck on the cheek.  
  
Steve was pretty sure there had never been a more depressing morning walk in any of their histories, and he joked as much while Sam tried to dial his therapist with shaking hands. Steve and Bucky were at his sides, pressing against him as though they could shelter him.  
  
Sam laughed weakly. Sometimes he wondered if the Avengers work contract had “ _Note: Must be a mess in some capacity or another_ ” in the fine print.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: This was really, really difficult to write and edit. I was drowning in Feels Lake, folks. Some shit hit close to home.
> 
> Next: less sadness, more shmoopy. Saunter on over to pt. II with me, won't you?)


	23. i'll be frozen here on, pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to look up.

  
Steve set a large mug of tea in front of Sam, who nodded his thanks.    
  


    “‘S fuckin’ dark in here. I’m gonna open a window” Bucky said, looking at Sam. Sam sighed, massaging his temples. He’d just come back from his fourth therapy session and felt a migraine on its way. There had been a lot of rehashing of shit he didn’t want to talk about (which is exactly why he needed to talk about it.)   
  
    “Do you _have_ to?” Sam groaned. Bucky half-shrugged.   
  
    “You need sunlight. It’s healthy.”  
  
Sam looked pointedly at Bucky’s pale skin. “Uh- _huh._ ”  
  
Ignoring him, Bucky pulled back the curtains and resumed his dusting, using an old torn t-shirt to wipe at Sam’s TV screen. Sam returned to frowning at his mail, separating bills from cards from junk. He’d been slowly trying to piece himself back together, and after nearly tripping facefirst into his wall, he’d admitted that the mail situation had gotten slightly out of hand. And the dust. And there was at least one box of milk in the fridge that could walk on its own by now, he reckoned.   
  
Steve poked his head out of the kitchen, where he had just finished throwing out Sam’s spoiled groceries and replacing them with fresh food. “You guys _sure_ you don’t want me to cook? I learned some new recipes…”  
  
Bucky frantically shook his head _no_ at Sam.   
  
    “I’m just getting back on my feet and you’re trying to kill me already?” Sam replied, eliciting a weak smile from Steve. Sam was already making jokes about his depression, and Steve didn’t quite know how to handle that sort of humour yet. He had been so worried to see Sam like that, and Steve was unable to fight this particular foe for Sam; all he could do was watch helplessly and be as supportive as he could.  
  
Sam smiled a little to himself as he went back to sorting the mail. Truthfully, he wasn’t feeling 100% yet, but he didn’t feel as much like staying in bed until the sun exploded.   
“So, uhm… hey,” he said, loudly enough that the other two could hear him. “If you wanted to stay, you can. Tonight.”   
  
Steve smiled, genuinely this time. He’d missed being with Sam, feeling his body next to his own when he woke up.   
  
Bucky paused his dusting again. “You sure?”   
  
Sam nodded. “I mean… no promises for the _fun stuff_ ,” he said. _Dunno if I’m ready for sex yet._   
  
    “Just being with you is plenty fun,” Steve said, emerging from the kitchen. He had a mixing bowl and was vigorously beating some kind of batter. Sam hadn’t even heard him preparing anything. _Sneaky bastard._   
  
    “‘Plenty fun,’ boy howdy.” Bucky grinned as Sam sarcastically mimicked Steve.   
  
    “Well, you’re definitely feeling better since you’re being a jerk to me again,” Steve muttered. Sam stood, trying to peer into the bowl.   
  
    “What you gonna punish us with tonight?”   
  
    “It’s a surprise.”  
  
    “Don’t like surprises when _you’re_ cookin’,” Bucky piped up.   
  
    “Go to hell, Bucky.”  
  
    “Prolly will, yeah.”  
  
Sam was still trying to see into the bowl, making a face when Steve purposefully angled it away from him.   
“I don’t mind cooking, Steve, seriously.”  
  
    “God, will you two give me a _little_ credit? Besides, I want to take care of you.”  
  
Bucky made a gagging noise and Sam cringed. Steve, used to their behaviour, ignored them and disappeared back into the kitchen. The good mood was infectious; on a whim, Sam walked over to Bucky and grabbed the t-shirt rag, flicking it at him. Bucky effortlessly caught it and yanked Sam towards him, placing a surprisingly tender kiss on his forehead. Sam allowed it, relaxing against him. Bucky quickly signed “ _Are you alright?”_ and Sam nodded, leaning against him for a hug. He had his ups and downs, but having their dumb asses around seemed to help a lot.   
  
When he finally let go and turned to go to the kitchen, Steve was leaned against the doorframe, smiling fondly at them. Sam made a face at him.   
  
    “You’re a creep, Rogers.”  
  
    “If you say so. Can you help me a sec?”  
  
Sam dramatically clutched his stomach and Bucky sympathetically pat his shoulder; Steve muttered “Jesus” under his breath and stepped back into the kitchen.   
  
    “Okay, what disaster am I averting?” Sam asked as he moved closer to Steve.   
  
    “Uh… okay, well, this recipe calls for condensed milk, but I think I bought evaporated milk.”  
  
Sam stood next to him and quickly looked over the recipe. _Cornbread._ He looked askance at Steve, who was going a little pink.   
  
    “I wanted to uhm… comfort food? You said you loved your mom’s cornbread, so…”  
  
Sam felt an overwhelming rush of affection. He also felt like a little like crying. _I’m so sick of that._ Instead, he pulled Steve in for a lingering kiss, the first one he’d given him since his visit to Riley and the subsequent breakdown.   
  
    “You’re too much sometimes,” Sam murmured as he pulled away from him.   
  
    “I know. I just love you. A lot.” Steve was giving him one of his intensely adoring looks, and Sam found he’d really missed it.   
  
    “You are _too much_.” Sam grinned.  
  
    “I don’t care. I do. You’re one of the best things in my life.” Steve wanted Sam to know it with every fibre of his being, even if he rolled his eyes or pretended to throw up.  
  
    “For the record,” Bucky said from somewhere behind them, “I think Sam’s just ‘ _okay_ ’ at best.”   
  
    “Who the fuck asked you?” Sam scoffed as Bucky made his way over to them.   
  
Bucky just kissed his neck and leaned against Steve, recieving a quick kiss on the temple from him in turn. Sam let out a slow sigh, glad that he felt comforted instead of crowded by having them near.   
  
    “Okay,” Sam said, turning back to the counter and lifting the can for inspection. “Condensed milk and evap are totally different, man.” Bucky settled between them, resting his chin on Sam’s shoulder and tucking his arm through Steve’s.   
  
    “Do we need to go get some condensed milk?” Steve asked, looking slightly put out. He'd hoped that he would've been able to nail this one recipe this one time.   
  
    “Yeah,” Sam said, shaking his head fondly. “But we’ll make it work.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: I know this is a short chapter, but I figured we needed a bit of a pick-me-up after the last chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for journeying through Sadness Valley with me. Things will start to look up from here-- and the end, which is coming up in a few more chapters, will finish on a sickeningly sweet note. Promise. Everything's been written, it's just editing that's taking ages because I'm a lazy so-and-so :D)


	24. oh, the day that words are clearer to me, pt. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old men and a very ugly cake.

 

Sam woke up first, blessedly free of a headache from drinking (who’d thought it was a good idea to marathon _Lord of the Rings_ and take a shot every single time someone yelled “Frodo!” dramatically, anyway?)  
  
He groaned faintly when he realised he was entangled in a couple hundred pounds of way-too-warm Steven Grant Rogers, with Bucky wedged into the bed behind Steve. Steve was a sleep cuddler, and, unlike Bucky, he moved a lot in his sleep. Mostly to wrap another limb around his sleeping partner. Sam wasn’t going anywhere until Steve woke the fuck up.  
  
Sam yawned widely, stretching his sore muscles and hearing several joints pop. _Gettin’ old._ He spent several long moments waiting for the sadness to creep back in around the edges, but it seemed to be held at bay. For now.  
  
    “Steve,” he rasped, nudging him with his foot. Bucky _Hmmm?_ ed, immediately awake, but seemed content to stay put. Steve’s only response, however, was a snuffling snore. Sighing, Sam slowly extricated himself from Steve’s embrace. It was like dealing with a very muscular octopus (Bucky, the asshole, just muttered “Good luck with that” to Sam instead of waking Steve up. Because he was an asshole.) Steve’s eyes finally fluttered open just as Sam pried his arm from around his chest.  
  
    “Morning.”  
  
Sam pulled a face. “Your breath is _kickin’,_ Steve.”  
  
    “So’s yours,” Steve shrugged. He leaned over and kissed Sam, terrible morning breath and all. Sam allowed himself to smile, fighting off the thought of _How long until this comes crashing down again?_  
  
Steve’s warm embrace was enough to muffle those thoughts -- at least until Bucky clambered over Steve and shoved himself between the two of them like a huge and irate cat, muttering about falling off the edge of the bed. Sam took the hint and pulled Bucky against him as Steve spooned him, sharing a grin with Sam over Bucky’s head.  
  
    “We gotta pay more attention to Barnes, Steve. He’s pouting and that shit ain’t cute,” Sam murmured.  
  
    “Sorry, Buck. We both love you very, very much,” Steve said, his voice sweet as honey.  
  
    “Fuck you both,” Bucky muttered, closing his eyes contentedly.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Sam wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep again, but the sun was up properly now. Steve was awake, his smartphone in one hand and the other arm wrapped around Sam as he slept, curled into Steve’s side.  
  
He yawned and groaned sleepily, causing Steve to look down.  
  
    “Your stomach was growling in your sleep,” he said by way of greeting. Sam groaned again.   
  
    “Too tired to cook.”  
  
    “That happens as you get older, Sam.” Ignoring the light punch Sam gave his thigh (he barely noticed it), he continued, “Bucky went out for a walk earlier-- he’s asking if we want doughnuts.”  
  
    “If it means I ain’t gotta move, I’ll even eat _your_ cooking.”  
  
    “Ouch.”  
  
    “That’s my stomach anytime you serve dinner. Yeah, Barnes can bring food. And _he_ can make the coffee."  
  
    “I was too busy fighting damn Nazis and _saving the world_ to learn how to make a fancy soufflé -- _and_ you liked the cornbread I made that time,” Steve said defensively. Sam sank back onto the other man’s broad chest, his own smartphone now in hand.  
  
    “A: Barnes was fighting Nazis too. And _he_ can cook. B: your cornbread was good because _we helped you make it._ ” Sam tapped out a text to the group chat as he spoke, nestled comfortably against Steve.  
  
_SAM W.: barnes, tell steve he cant cook_ _  
__  
__B.: steve, youre the worst cook in the known universe. accept it._ _  
__  
__ROGERS: I CAN cook, you two are just picky.  
  
__SAM W.: yeh im picky bout nt dissolving my stomach lining_ _  
__  
__B.: LMAO so do you want donuts_ _  
__  
__SAM W.: ye get a ton [donut emoji] im rly hungry_ _  
__  
__ROGERS: Same here. We’re starving._ _  
__  
__B.: whyre both of you so hungry? [two eggplant emojis; wink emoji]_  
  
“What does that even mean?” Steve asked Sam, frowning at his phone. Sam told him. _  
__  
__ROGERS: Don’t be gross, Buck. (And, yes.)  
  
_ It wasn’t technically true… _Yet_ , Sam mentally amended as Steve gave him a smile that was entirely too wicked for this hour of the morning.  
_  
__SAM W.: mind ya bidness son. (yep)_ _  
__  
_ Sam only had time to glance at Bucky’s return text before Steve demanded his full attention.  
_  
B.: i leave you 2 alone for ONE HOUR  
  
  
_ \---  
  
  
Sam let the warm water sluice over his face, sighing with pleasure as his muscles loosened in the steaming shower. He always seemed to be achy lately… but at least this time, there was a good reason ( _two_ good reasons, in fact; two eternally-horny boyfriends will do that to a body.) Behind him, Steve yawned widely and reached past Sam to grab the shower gel.  
  
    “Uh-uh, you use the guest soap,” Sam said, turning to look at Steve. Steve ignored him and picked up the bottle.  
  
    “Why can’t I use this one?”  
  
    “That’s the _good_ stuff, man. Expensive as hell. Not even I use that one much.”  
  
    “Who has guest soap, anyway?”  
  
    “People who have _guests_ , Steve. Some of us have friends.”  
  
    “‘Friends’? Is that some kinda newfangled invention?” Steve smiled, his blond hair plastered to his forehead by the shower.  
  
    “It’s too early for your shit, Rogers.”  
  
    “It’s after 7. That’s not early…”  
  
    “Maybe not for _you_ ,” Sam muttered.  
  
    “Well _gosh_ , Sam, I’m just so goldarned excited to start the day that--” he was cut off by Sam reaching up and pulling him into a kiss.  
“That was… sudden,” Steve murmured against Sam’s lips. Sam just quirked an eyebrow before returning, businesslike, to his shower.  
  
    “I had to shut you up somehow.”  
  
    “Plenty other ways to do that.” Steve’s voice was low, and Sam grinned to himself, glad that his face was angled away from Steve. His triumph was short-lived, though, because Steve’s hands were sliding sneakily around his hips…  
  
  
\---  
  
  
    “We gotta… move… if we’re gonna… fu--” Sam choked on the last word as Steve’s fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly.  
  
    “We have to move? Why?” Steve’s apparent coolheadedness was belied by his steadily pinkening cheeks.  
  
    “I’m gonna slip.”  
  
Steve shot him a devilish smile that reminded him vaguely of Bucky. _They spend too much time together._  
“I can hold you up.”  
  
    “Hold--?” Sam tilted his head back, unable to concentrate much as Steve unrelentingly stroked him. In answer, Steve easily hoisted Sam up, who let out a small sound of surprise. He automatically wrapped his legs around Steve’s hips to keep from falling, and found himself in a bit of a predicament.  
  
    “Oh. _Oh,_ ” Sam breathed, feeling Steve’s rigid cock pressing against his ass. Steve tilted his head to one side, somehow infusing innocence into the gesture despite their decidedly not-innocent activities.  
  
    “Only if you want to, Sam,” he said reassuringly, his arms barely showing any strain from the effort of holding the other man up.  
  
    “Okay… just let me go get--” Sam started, wriggling slightly in Steve’s firm grip.  
  
Steve shuffled Sam’s weight to one arm momentarily, reached over to Sam’s small collection of bath products and pulled out a small bottle.  
  
    “Is that _lube_ ?”  
  
    “Sure is.”  
  
    “When did you even bring that in here?”  
  
    “Always be prepared, Wilson.”

  


In the living room, Bucky was fidgeting with his phone and slurping at a concoction that was ‘coffee’ in name only (it had a lot more caramel than caffeine), unable to concentrate much on the TV. The sounds from the bathroom, easily audible to his enhanced senses, were...distracting. A lot of low murmuring ( _that sounds like Steve. Never shuts up._ ) A lot of water splashing. A long, low moan that teetered on pained ( _that had to be Sam_ ). And then the rude sound of wet bodies coming sharply into contact with each other. Again. Again. Steve muttered something that made Sam let out a small laugh. More noises.  
  
Bucky swallowed thickly. He hadn’t thought of this aspect-- playing voyeur. An unexpected perk.  
  
A mindless fashion makeover show was on, completely at odds with what was happening in the bathroom… not that Bucky was even pretending to watch anymore. He was listening. Waiting for that telltale sound…   
  
Sam’s shaky sigh, right before he-- yes, there it was. Bucky had heard that sound many times now, both in the waking world and in his mind when he lazily slipped his hand into his boxers at night.  
  
Steve said something, slightly muffled, but clear enough. “Ah-- _Sam. Fuck._ ”  
  
A loud _crack_ rang out from the bathroom, making Bucky sit up in alarm. _What the fuck?_  
  
    “Rogers, please tell me you _did not just break my tile_ ,” Sam said loudly. Bucky choked on his coffee, snorting as he remembered replacing the tile that he himself had cracked a while back.  
  
    “Shit. _Shit_. I’m sorry!” Steve sounded remorseful and slightly panicked (probably more at Sam kicking his ass than the actual damage that he’d just caused.)  
  
    “At least put me down before the damn thing cuts me,” Sam said resignedly. When Sam and Steve emerged from the bathroom, Steve stopped short at the sight of Bucky, going even pinker than he had been. Sam seemed unsurprised to see him.  
  
    “You two ain’t got _no_  behaviour,” Sam said, pointing between the two others. “Next one to break something in here gets some broken _teeth_.” He stalked over to Bucky, grabbed a donut, and gave him a brief, powdered-sugary kiss on the mouth before skulking off to his room to change. Steve grinned awkwardly at Bucky.  
  
    “Hey, Buck. Uh, how long have you been--”  
  
    “I heard _everything_.” Bucky didn’t spare him at all, practically beaming at Steve’s mortified expression.  
  
    “Oh my god.”  
  
    “Yeah, heard that a couple times too.”  
  
    “Any chance you’re gonna let me live this down?” Steve asked, flopping next to him and draping an arm around his shoulders.   
  
    “Not the slightest goddamn chance,” Bucky returned, patting Steve’s bare chest. Steve sighed and glanced over his shoulder to make sure Sam was still out of earshot.  
  
    “Did you get it?” he asked quietly. Bucky grinned.  
  
    “Yeah. Got it made special. _Custom._ ”  
  
    “What? It was supposed to be a simple-”  
  
    “ _Ohhh,_ it’s simple.” Bucky slipped from under Steve’s arm, doubled back to give him a quick kiss, and then ducked into the kitchen. He was positively radiating glee, which was always cause for worry because, well, Bucky.  
  
    “You remembered candles, right?” Steve called after him, careful to keep his voice down.   
  
    “Damn right I did.”  
  
Steve’s face was somewhere between worried and curious, but he smoothed his expression as Sam came out of the bedroom, focused on the screen of his phone.  
  
    “Okay, Buck,  _now._ ”  
  
Sam looked up, startled by Steve’s voice, but his eyes widened even more when Bucky sauntered out of the kitchen with an enormous cake.  
  
It was _big._  
  
It was very, _very_ orange.  
  
And on top, in the place of honour, were three [question mark candles](https://i5.walmartimages.com/asr/05e12193-e15e-4aa6-b0bd-3d5ff0b7fe36_1.2213781008a6c5f637efd4bb389a3caa.jpeg?odnHeight=450&odnWidth=450&odnBg=FFFFFF), already lit.   
  
    “Bet you thought we forgot,” Steve said, smiling at the look on Sam’s face.  
  
Bucky took a breath in. _“Happy birthday to you..._ ” It passed for singing on a good day, but what was really surprising was Steve’s rich, smooth voice joining in. Steve could _sing_. This was entirely too much.  
  
    “What is-- what?” Sam said, at a loss for words that made sense. Bucky moved closer and set the cake down, his eyes alight with barely-repressed excitement. Sam looked down at the cake and doubled over: written shakily in horrible clashing red icing was “HAPPY BIRD-DAY, FLACON” and a poorly rendered sleepy-looking hawk giving a thumbs-up.  
“I h-hate orange… and F… ‘ _Flacon’_ … you _shit_ …” Sam could hardly speak for laughing, and Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, ever long-suffering.  
  
    “‘ _Happy birthday, Sam!’_ That’s all we were gonna put on the cake, Bucky.”  
  
    “That’s what _you_ wanted, and that was _boring_ , so."  
  
    “And ‘Flacon’?”  
  
    “Remember when that headline misspelled ‘Falcon’ last year?”  
  
Sam just gasped for air, trying to hold his phone steady enough to take a picture for his snapchat story.  
  
    “I think I have… probably over a dozen copies of that newspaper,” Bucky continued, raising his eyebrows at Steve until he finally broke down laughing.  
  
Sam finally finished taking his picture and calmed down enough to wipe at the corners of his eyes.  
“Bucky, this is the worst birthday cake I’ve ever seen.”  
  
    “I know. The woman at the bakery kept asking if I was sure this is what I wanted.”  
  
    “I just wanted something nice and simple,” Steve opined, though he was also reaching for his phone to take a picture of the abomination of a cake.  
“Happy birthday, Sam,” he said, smiling fondly as Sam shook his head in disbelief at the cake.  
  
    “Happy forty--”  
  
    “ _Nope_ ,” Sam said loudly, cutting Bucky off. “Don’t need a reminder about how old I am _._ ”  
  
    “You’re still young at heart,” Bucky simpered. Sam gave him his signature ‘I Am Unimpressed’ look before swiping some frosting off the cake with his finger and giving it a cautious lick.  
  
    “Barnes, this is actually _good_.”  
  
    “Well, yeah. Want it to _look_ like shit, not _taste_ like shit.”  
  
    “My hero,” Sam said drily. Steve sat up, tightening the towel around his waist.  
  
    “You should make a wish and blow out the candles!”  
  
Sam just stared at him.  
  
    “Is… do people not do that anymore?” Steve asked, scrubbing a hand through his hair awkwardly. Sam grinned, elbowing him.  
  
    “Nah, just… you’re real cute sometimes, Rogers.”  
  
    “Ah--”  
  
    “And what about _me_?” Bucky sounded mock-outraged (but really he was a little bit sulky, c’mon.)  
  
    “What _about_ you, Barnes?”  
  
    “I’m cute. My name’s _Bucky_ , for fuck’s sake. Don’t get any cuter than that.”  
  
    “I’m pretty sure your name isn’t so much ‘cute’ as it is ‘goofy,’ Buck.”  
  
    “Didn’t fuckin’ _ask_ you, Steve.”  
  
    “As the resident expert on cute--”  
  
    “Says _who_?”  
  
    “Says _Sam_.”  
  
  
Sam blew out the candles while the other two bickered playfully. _Who needs to make a wish when I got this sappy shit?_  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: It's mostly happy from here on out, y'all. And I'll be posting much more quickly; I've just about finished editing the rest, and I'm somewhat happy with the result. A few more chapters to go! :D
> 
> I can't tell you how much your support has meant to me. Please feel free to rec this to people who want the slowest burn All-Caps fic on earth! Kudos does a bitch good. <3
> 
> P.S. Next time: More stupid happy shit [mostly] and also Anaya! Ohhh lord.)


	25. oh, the day that words are clearer to me, pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh HI Anaya! 
> 
> Everybody is a goddamn mess.

  
Bucky knelt on the couch and helped Sam to sit up, mostly to pull him into a deep kiss. The plates smeared with fluorescent orange frosting lay scattered on the coffee table, forgotten by the three men. Three empty coffee cups were scattered among the cake wreckage, which which usually have Sam more than a little irritated, but--  
  
He was preoccupied.  
  
Steve shifted slightly, kneeling so that he could move closer to them; Sam reached back blindly for him and he pressed his lips to Sam’s neck, in the spot he knew sent shivers through him--  
  
The morning had suddenly gone from playful to _this._   
  
    “Gonna let us treat you?” This was Steve, running his hands up Sam’s thighs. Bucky hummed in agreement, pulling away from the kiss to nip sharply at Sam’s earlobe, another of his weak spots--  
  
    “I… might…” Sam was already having trouble concentrating, almost overwhelmed by the attention from the two men. He twisted around slightly and reached for Steve, who complied by moving in for a kiss. He was so different from Bucky, who was forceful and gentle in turns; Steve’s kisses were more languid, slowly rising in intensity until  
  
    “Uh,” a somewhat shaky voice came from the hallway. “Happy… birthday?”  
  
Anaya stood in the entrance, a cake-box dangerously close to slipping from her fingers in her shock. Crammed on Sam’s couch was a man with dark hair pulled back into a messy bun, frozen in the act of biting Sam’s neck; Sam, who hastily pulled away from a kiss with the third man; and a large blonde man who looked like a deer caught in headlights when Sam pulled away, who could only be--  
  
    “Captain,” she said respectfully, dropping her keys as she tried to salute awkwardly. Her face showed a plethora of emotions, chief among them ‘ _Oh my god, oh my god,’_ and a a 50/50 desire to either flee or stay and stare at this mess.   
“Uhh… hi-- Sam. I’ll just… leave this on the counter…”  
  
    “Wait--wait!” Sam had launched right over “horrifically embarrassed” and gone straight to “who cares.” It wasn’t as if she’d found them balls-deep in him, and they were all mature adults. Well. Adults, anyway.   
  
_Happy birthday._ Typical. Sam gave Steve and Bucky short kisses on the cheek, having to twist awkwardly between the two, before struggling off the couch.  
“Wait, Ana, hey. Uh… so. Yeah. Yes. Okay.”  
  
Anaya paused in the act of backing away into the kitchen, although she was definitely doing the whole ‘screaming with my eyes’ thing. Sam gave her a quick smile, infusing it with as much ‘Chill out’ as possible.  
“This is Barnes-- Bucky. This is Bucky,” he said, gesturing to the man in question. Bucky, unsure what the proper reaction was in such a situation, smiled warily. Anaya waved, trying not to drop the cake or the bottle of wine she had tucked under her arm.  
  
    “And this is Steve…”   
  
At hearing his name, Steve stood respectfully, straightening his shoulders. “Miss.” He was still clad in only a towel, which did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he had been interrupted in the middle of something (well, almost in the middle of some _one_ , anyway.)  
  
    “At ease, soldier,” Anaya murmured, unable to hide the way her eyes had briefly darted downwards. Steve coughed and adjusted his towel. Sam bit the insides of his cheeks. _Better they meet now than never, I guess._ The look on Steve’s face was going to give Sam and Bucky fodder for the rest of their lives.  
  
    “Guys, this is Anaya. The _other_ love of my life, also know as the girl who won't stop trying to undo all my hard work in the gym.” _I just called them the loves of my life. Help  
  
_ Anaya blinked and, inexplicably, curtsied. Then she clapped her hands to her face and groaned, realizing that she had just curtsied. 

    “I told you, _ma_ keeps sending you sweets. Don’t act like you don’t eat all of them within the _week_.” Her voice was muffled from between her fingers.   
  
    “Don’t mock the birthday boy,” Sam scowled, mentally filing away that curtsey for later torture. Anaya shook her head and lowered her hands just enough to roll her eyes at Sam.  
  
Bucky and Steve were watching the exchange with varying levels of unsureness, and Anaya grimaced awkwardly.  
  
    “Uh. Ahhh… shit. I don’t know what the protocol is here-- uh. Howdy?” She screamed at sam with her eyes again; all of her sass and snark had apparently died a swift death and she was making a damn fool of herself. In front of _Captain America_.   
  
    “If it makes you feel any better, we have no idea what we’re doing either,” Steve piped up, having just about pulled himself together. Sam laughed and Bucky flashed a slightly shy smile.  
  
    “So, you brought me a cake? Thanks,” Sam said, trying to regain control of the situation.  
  
    “ _Yyyyeah…_ ” Anaya also seemed to be getting her footing back. “I had a day planned for you, but uh… you’re busy…”   
  
    “Mood’s kinda gone,” Bucky offered, making Anaya chuckle and duck her head embarrassedly.  
  
    “Sorry, guys. I’ll go. Not gonna cockblock the birthday boy.” Anaya paused, musing. “Or would it be ‘cocksblock’ if it’s more than one? Like ‘passersby’?”   
  
    “Anaya, _shut up._ ” Sam took the cake from her and crushed her into a tight hug, making her squeak a little. As he turned to look at the other two men, his face became more serious; he worried his lower lip between his teeth, clearly debating something.  
  
They were some of the most important people in his life, and they were all there. _Might as well get this over with._  
“Can I talk to you all about something?”  
  
    “Of course,” Ana said, taking a few steps into the living room.  
  
    “Uh… can I change first?” Steve asked, self-consciously hitching his towel higher on his hips.   
  
    “Yeah, there’s a _lady_ present, Rogers. Show some class,” Bucky teased as Sam wrapped Anaya in another tight hug. She grinned over Sam’s shoulder at Bucky.   
  
    “Don’t go to any trouble on _my_ account,” she said innocently. Who in their right mind would argue against a shirtless Steve Rogers (besides Steve himself, who couldn’t have been pinker if he tried)?  
  
When Steve returned, properly attired, Anaya and Bucky were comparing the garish birthday cake he’d gotten for Sam with Anaya’s much more tasteful-looking one (she looked as happy as if it was her own birthday when she saw the “FLACON” part of Bucky’s cake.)   
  
    “Steve,” Sam called, noticing his presence. “Come here… okay, guys.” He gestured to all three of them; Steve and Bucky on the couch, Anaya tucking her legs under her as she sat in the armchair. Sam sat on the edge of the coffee table so that he could see them all. This was going to be difficult. _Happy Birthday to me, listen to me talk about my dead boyfriend and how fucked up I am._  
  
He closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself.   
“You guys probably picked up that I’m-- I _wasn’t_ doing so hot recently,” he joked weakly. He got nods and half-smiles from those present.  
“Well… Ana knows some of the story,” he continued. Anaya looked mildly surprised that he’d kept some things from her.   
“I’m gonna tell you… I’ll tell you everything.” He needed them to understand -- Riley, his occasional bouts of inexplicable sadness, everything.  
  
Sam spoke without interruption, plowing through his painful narrative with only a few pauses to steady his voice. Steve was nodding slowly as he listened, his eyes on Sam; Anaya had her hand over her mouth, looking off to the side (she was mostly trying not to cry); Bucky was staring at his hands, his head angled slightly to the side as he absorbed Sam’s words.  
  
“... uh, so. Therapy’s been helping… I’m having more good days than bad, but… I need you to understand. This might be it.”  
  
They all looked at him with varying degrees of confusion.  
  
    “I mean…” Sam struggled to say the words that he’d had to tell other vets so many times. It was harder when it was your own shit you were dealing with. “I mean, this might be _me._ I’m getting better, and I think I can get out of this, but… it’s not just Riley. I had some… bad times before him, too. I’m just kinda realizing-- it might just be _me_. Some good days. Some bad. And I need you to know that.” _And I need you to not give up on me during the bad days.  
_  
Surprisingly, Bucky spoke up first. “Okay. It’s you.” His face was determined as he signed “ _I want it all._ ”  
  
Sam smiled and quickly signed _“Thank you.”_ Steve was watching the exchange, a strange expression on his face. He glanced at Anaya before speaking; he wasn’t sure how much to say without it being awkward, but if Sam trusted her…  
  
    “That’s a lot for you to bear alone,” he said to Sam. “I’m here for it too-- all of it. Me and Buck. But I just… don’t know what to do. I feel helpless and I _hate_ that. I wish I could _do_ something, but--”  
  
    “That’s not your job,” Sam said quickly. “You can’t take on that burden. I know it’s what you do,” he continued, smiling a little, “but this is my fight. I just… can’t do it alone, is all. Kinda like you didn’t do it alone either.”   
  
Steve hummed in agreement. “Well… we’re all here. And we all love you. So, ah...” his eyes darted toward Ana again and, predictably, the tiniest hint of pink crept into his cheeks.  
  
Anaya had raised her eyebrows slightly upon hearing Steve so easily say that they both loved Sam, but she came back to herself and cleared her throat.  
  
    “Sammy… don’t take it on alone. I know that’s exactly what you wanna do sometimes, _Counsellor Wilson_ , but friends-- uh-- uh…” she paused awkwardly, not sure how to refer to Steve and Bucky.  
  
    “I think ‘boyfriends’ is okay,” Steve said, nodding seriously. He couldn’t quite keep a small grin off his face, and Anaya laughed, a little embarrassed.   
  
    “That’s what we’re here for,” she concluded. Sam grinned, not about to let her awkward speech go.   
  
    “Well, thanks for being good ‘uhmm, uhhh, friends’--”  
  
    “Sam, you _fucking suck_.”  
  
    “Ana, be nice, it’s my birthday.”  
  
Anaya opened her mouth to fire back a retort, but an alert went off on her phone.   
“Fuck… uhmmm, did you want to do anything for your birthday? Because I made plans and one of them is about to pass us by…”  
  
Sam considered for a moment. Telling the three of them about his depression in detail hadn’t been fun, but he felt a bit lighter, more like celebrating his birthday with the people he loved.  
  
He looked at Bucky and Steve. “You guys coming?”  
  
    “What, us?”  
  
Sam nodded.  
  
    “You don’t mind?” Steve asked Anaya.  
  
    “It’d be my pleasure. And Sam’s, I suspect…” Her voice took on a completely unnecessary sultry tone for the last part.  
  
    “Ana, don’t be _nasty_.” Sam pulled his best fake-scandalized face.  
  
    “I wasn’t the one having a three-way on the couch, Samuel.” They had found their rhythm again, relentlessly teasing each other as they usually did. Bucky thought he’d like this woman. Steve wanted to die of humiliation.

 

\---

 

Bucky tapped Steve’s shoulder and frowned, signing “ _I don’t understand.”_ Steve squinted hard at the rugby pitch, watching the players slam into each other. After the three men took hasty showers (Anaya had graciously waited in her car, entertaining herself by thinking of them in the shower… although she'd never tell them. Well, maybe Sam.) The four of them were now following her well-organized birthday itinerary for her best friend.   
  
    “I think… when they get in a circle… you’re supposed to… yeah, I’m lost.” Steve shrugged. He popped a kernel of popcorn into his mouth before offering some to Bucky. Sam was on Bucky’s other side, sandwiched between Bucky and Anaya.   
  
It had been an awkward car ride at first, but Sam had kept the conversation light and easy, bit by bit breaking the ice. By the time they pulled up to the stadium, Steve had even teased Anaya a little, which she’d _loved_ .   
  
Sam had one hand buried in Bucky’s hair, rubbing idly at his scalp. Bucky was often tense in large crowds, and Sam knew that physical contact helped to calm him. Steve had linked arms with Bucky on the other side, helping to keep him grounded.   
  
    “Rogers, quit hogging the popcorn,” Sam said over Bucky’s head. Steve placed a single kernel delicately between his lips and leaned across Bucky, raising his eyebrows.   
  
    “That is _not_ happening, Steve,” Sam laughed. Steve only leaned even further forward, furrowing his brow a little and giving his patented Sad Look.   
  
    “Steve…”   
  
_Oh my god, stop this please jesus_

  
“ _Fine_ , you embarrassment of a man.” Sam leaned across and briefly pressed his lips to Steve’s, plucking the popcorn away from him. Bucky rolled his eyes and craned his neck to see the game over the two other men’s heads. Steve grinned triumphantly and handed Sam the bag of popcorn.   
“You’re such a goddamn child sometimes, Steve.”   
  
    “Technically, I _am_ younger than you…”   
  
    “Shut the entire fuck up.”   
  
Anaya gave him a sidelong look. “You guys are gross,” she said, smiling. Leaning closer to Sam, she murmured “Is Steve wearing your shirt, or are they always that tight? Because… happy birthday to _me_ .”   
  
Sam pelted her with popcorn.

 

\---

 

    “What time is it?” Anaya asked, signalling to switch lanes. Sam, who’d been treated to several very strong cocktails by his birthday crew, laughed in a way that _might_ be classified as a ‘drunken giggle.’   
  
    “Time to get a watch--”  
  
    “ _Shut_ , Sam.”  
  
    “It’s about 10:45,” Steve answered, checking his wristwatch.  
  
    “Oof… well, there’s one big thing left on the list,” she said. After rugby, she’d taken them to a pretentious wine and cocktail bar (Sam enjoyed mockingly reading the overly-complicated drink names aloud), on a short boat tour around the bay (surprisingly, Bucky had been a little queasy; Sam and Steve had gotten several free drinks from some civilians who recognised them), and then to a jazz concert in the park (Anaya had been the only one not to particularly enjoy it, but she gamely went along. Sam disappeared halfway through. They found him at the beer tent.)   
  
    “Wass on the list, Anabanana?” Sam asked in a singsong voice. Steve shared a look with Bucky, both of them agreeing _never_ to let Sam forget this night.   
  
    “Well, Drunkass McDrunkerson… there’s our thing tonight. If you’re up for it… I’m sick of being the damn DD, so I’m definitely in.”  
  
    “Our thing tonight? Oh-- _oh. OH._ Oh shiiiiiit.” Sam was laughing now, the other two men looking utterly confused as Anaya grinned mischievously.  
  
    “Wanna let us in on the joke?” Bucky muttered. Sam, who was sitting in the passenger seat, looked back at them.   
  
    “Tonight’s trash night.”  
  
    “You’re… excited about taking out the trash?”  
  
    “ _No_ , asshole-- trash night. On our birthdays we go to the trashiest club, get trashed…”  
  
    “It takes our minds off our looming deaths,” Ana added wryly, turning down the radio so she could hear them better.    
“I, uh… dunno if it’d be your scene, Cap,” she finished. Steve raised an eyebrow.   
  
    “Why not?”  
  
    “People think you got a stick up your ass,” Bucky chimed in.  
  
Sam sputtered with laughter as Steve’s eyebrow went even higher.   
  
    “Not a… _stick_ per se,” he mused, making Anaya almost read-end the car in front of her.  
  
    “Steve! Jesus christ, man!” Sam howled, pounding the dashboard as Anaya shrieked with laughter. Bucky cringed slightly at the combined cacophony. Sam and Ana were like teenagers together, noisy and overly exuberant.  
“Well _I’m_ goin’,” Sam continued, wiping at his eyes. He turned, slightly wobbly, and gestured to Steve and Bucky. “You old-ass motherfuckers can come if y’want.”  
  
    “Is he going to be okay?” Steve asked Anaya, caught between amusement and mild concern at how much alcohol Sam had ingested during the course of the day (and apparently planned to continue doing, if ‘trash night’ was as debauched as it sounded.)  
  
    “He’s not a baby, Steve… and it’s his birthday. We literally do whatever we want. Uhhh… unless it’s illegal. Of course.” There had been a few not-quite-legal things in the past, but she wasn’t about to rat Sam out to Captain freakin’ America.  
  
    “Hey. Steve. Fffffuck you, m’man, I only get one damn birthday a year.”   
  
Steve shrugged, clearly deciding that he was outnumbered. Sam focused on Bucky with a little trouble.  
“Barnes. You dancin’? Gonna shake that ass for me?”  
  
Bucky wondered if he was hallucinating; he’d never heard Sam say anything like that to him before. _I wish I was recording this for blackmail._  
  
    “Uh. Dunno how much ass-shakin’ I’ll do.”  
  
Leaning over, Steve murmured, “ _You_ gonna be okay?” Clubs were noisy, full of rowdy people and flashing lights. Maybe not the best environment for Bucky.  
  
    “You in, Barnes?” Sam called from the front seat, distracted by numerous birthday Tweets, texts, and snapchats on his phone.   
  
    “Yeah,” Bucky said, nodding at Steve. “I’ll be okay.”  
  
    “Okay, let’s do this shit!”  
  
Anaya turned up the music to ear-splitting levels and Steve got that Outaged Old Man look again, but he gamely nodded his head to the beat (as close as he could get, anyway) and Bucky suddenly grinned, clapping a hand on his shoulder.   
  
    “We _gotta_ take pics of this mess.”    
  
     “I fuckin’ _love trash night!_ ” Sam yelled over the music. For the first time in a long time, he felt his body singing with the thrill of being alive (also he was very drunk.)

  
\---  
  
    “I… fuckin’ hate… trash night,” Sam slurred in the back of the taxi, slumping onto Bucky as Anaya tried and failed to hail another cab without falling over. He was now feeling like his limbs were made of those... those huge sausage thingies? They sell them in the fancy ... deli shop places? What did he mean? He meant his damn legs felt like sausages, Barnes, shut the fuck up.  
  
Sam was very, very,  _very_ drunk.  
  
It was almost 4 in the morning (which, according to Sam and Anaya, was _early_ for trash night to be wrapping up) and Steve was, predictably, being a mother hen and trying to convince Anaya that yes, the sidewalk felt really comfortable, but no, she really shouldn’t sleep there.   
  
    “‘M fiiiiiiiine, dun’ need yer help,” she sing-songed as she sat on the dirty concrete, looking blearily at her phone.   
  
    “Anaya, get ya drunk ass offa the gotdamn ground ‘n get in the car so we can get you home,” Sam said, not sounding much more coherent than his friend. Bucky locked eyes with Steve and shrugged.   
  
    “I got my hands full of old drunk man, can’t help you,” he said. Sam tried to swat him, but he missed by several inches.  
  
    “Stop… stop movin’.”  
  
Bucky just grimaced.   
  
Their taxi driver took one look at them and hit the start button on the meter. Outside the car, Steve reached an executive decision and picked Anaya up, careful to tuck her very short dress under her behind to spare her dignity as he carried her bridal-style to the others.   
  
    “Sam, SAM, tekkapikshur tekkapikshur, Cappen Merika is _carryin’ me he’s--_ ”  
  
    “Wha?”  
  
    “TAKE A PICTURE, CAP--awwww…” she ended on a disappointed sigh, because Steve had already gently settled her into the front seat of the taxi. He gave the driver an apologetic look and sat in the back seat next to Sam.   
  
    “If this was trash night, does this make this car the garbage truck?” he suddenly mused, eliciting a hearty round of groans (except from the driver, who was calmly ignoring them.)  
  
    “Never mind, ‘m not in love with Cappen Merika anymore, he’s a _nerd._ ”  
  
    “Good choice, Anaya,” Steve said, mock-seriously.  
  
    “I’m _dyin’_ and yer ig _norin’_ me an’ it’s my _birthday_.” Sam’s voice sounded a little bit like Bucky when _he_ was (semi) jokingly whining. More than a little bit, actually.  
  
Bucky, on the other hand, wore a _very_ Sam-like expression at the whole situation.  
  
The three of them really were spending too much time together.

  
\---   
  
    “Sam, you’re too drunk…” Steve protested weakly as Sam reached down and cupped the bulge in his jeans. Bucky was behind Sam, lightly holding his hips as he swayed slightly.   
  
    “‘m _not_ too drunk,” Sam replied unconvincingly. Steve took a deep breath; as much as his mind was muddled with thoughts of sex at the moment, he knew he and Bucky had to take care of Sam.   
  
    “Babe, you _are_ , okay? Take it easy.”   
  
Sam scowled, but moved his hand immediately. “Dun call me bae.”   
  
    “...‘bae’?”   
  
    “Hhhhholy shit y’all white.” Sam snickered, leaning back against Bucky for support. Steve just shrugged, because… well.  
  
    “You need some water,” Steve murmured, reaching out and rubbing Sam's arms. Bucky nuzzled Sam’s neck, _mm-hmm_ -ing in agreement.   
  
    “Dun wan’ water.”   
  
Very Drunk Sam wasn’t too difficult to handle, but he argued a lot with the others, insisting that he wasn’t _that_ drunk (he was) or _that_ tired (he was) because he wasn’t _that_ old dammit (he was.)  
  
In the time that it took Steve to unlock Sam’s door, the birthday boy had all but melted, being basically held upright by Bucky. But he was still insisting that he could probably party more. Definitely.   
  
  
  
    “Here,” Bucky urged a few minutes later, pressing a glass of water into Sam’s hand. Sam opened his mouth to argue and suddenly sat up, his eyes coming into focus.   
  
    “You okay?” Steve asked, watching warily.   
  
Sam’s speech was a little bit slurred, but was far more intelligible than anything he’d said for the last 2 or so hours.   
“I am going to throw up.”   
  
  
\--

  
  
    “See?” Bucky crooned, rubbing Sam’s back as he slumped over the toilet, retching noisily. “You’re over 40 but you can still party like you’re 19.”  
  
    “Fu… fuck y-you,” Sam choked out, convulsing slightly as another wave of nausea hit him. Steve was perched on the edge of the bathtub, holding another glass of water and some Alka-Seltzer tablets. He grimaced.   
  
    “Not in this state we won’t,” he muttered. Sam tried to flip him off, but only managed to knock the glass out of his hand.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
    “He’s out,” Bucky sighed tiredly some time later, setting down his mug of coffee. He and Steve had stayed up with Sam, helping him quell his ill stomach, get cleaned up, and stayed with him until he dozed off.   
  
Steve, who had been almost asleep himself, sat up with a jerk. “Huh-- oh. Good. That’s good.”  
  
    “Think we should head out? Give him some space?”  
  
    “Dunno, he’ll probably feel pretty bad in the morning. We should look after him.”  
  
    “You just like _taking care_ of people, ya big softy.”  
  
    “Not everyone. But … yeah, you two bring out the Florence Nightingale in me, I guess.”  
  
    “Ugh.”  
  
    “Ugh, _yourself_. C’mere.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: So, it turns out that I'm a goddamn liar and "will update faster" means "not update faster."
> 
> Hi Anaya! Bye Anaya! She won't really be around after this, because this ain't about her [as much fun as she is to write]
> 
> Next up: the morning after. Huuurgh. 
> 
> next part dis way--->)


	26. oh, the day that words are clearer to me, pt. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't drink and text, folks.

Sam felt like he was on a swaying ship, although at least he didn’t feel like throwing up anymore. A heavy arm was draped across him; probably Steve, from the way he was curled protectively around Sam. A soft snuffle somewhere from the other side of the bed alerted him to Bucky’s presence as well. _They stayed for me._  
  
He poked at his phone’s home button and was rewarded with an eyeful of blinding light as his screen lit up. 12:13 PM. It was afternoon already?  
  
    “Y’okay?” Bucky’s low voice, slightly raspy with sleep. Of course Sam’s slight movement had woken him and not Steve, who slept like the dead as usual.  
  
    “Yeah, Barnes. Well, no, I wanna scoop my brain out with a melon baller, but I’m alive.”  
  
     “Better’n last night then.”  
  
Steve twitched and snored loudly, once.  
  
    “No, because last night I was blissfully drunk,” Sam replied as he blearily tapped out a text to Anaya.  
  
    "Yeah, you were blissfully drunk all over the toilet and sink," Bucky murmured, already slipping back into a half-doze.

 _SAM W.: u ok?_  
  
_A. CHAHAL: [skull emoji] [poop emoji] [crying emoji]_  
  
_SAM W.: same lol_  
  
_SAM W.: drnk sum water ok_  
  
_A. CHAHAL: its too early_  
_  
A. CHAHAL: i hate u a lot_

 _A. CHAHAL: dont ever message me again_  
  
_SAM W.: [wink emoji] [heart emoji]_  
  
_A. CHAHAL: [heart emoji] [skull emoji] [bed emoji]_  
  
  
  
Sam smiled a little; she could put drinks away at the same pace as Sam, but Anaya always paid dearly for it the next day. He checked the rest of his messages… three missed calls and one text from his mother.  
  
_MOM: Samuel, what is this?_  
  
She never really texted much, preferring to speak on the phone or meet face-to-face.  
  
_What’s she talking about?_ Sam scrolled up in his messages, finally reaching one he’d sent his mother last night. He didn’t remember sending it.  
  
He wanted to die.  
  
He and Anaya had taken plenty of pictures in rapidly degrading states of sobriety (Steve had taken over sometime in the late afternoon, after Sam had nearly dropped his into a fountain.)  
  
Most of them were fairly innocent: them toasting with champagne, one rather sweet picture shot from the back, of Steve with his arms draped around Bucky and Sam at the jazz concert; one of Anaya pretending to steal Sam’s slice of cake; and one of Steve and Bucky kissing Sam’s cheeks, Bucky’s hand clearly up Sam’s shirt, Steve’s hand splayed flirtatiously across Sam’s chest (Anaya had suggested the cheesy pose and the others had surprisingly played along. Anything for the birthday boy.)  
  
Guess which one he’d drunkenly sent his mother.  
  
The phone only rang a couple of times before Darlene Wilson picked up. Sam still didn’t feel well enough to get up and leave the room, so he supposed he’d have to risk Bucky listening in (he was fairly sure Steve was out cold.)  
  
  
_“Sam! Happy belated birthday, baby!”_ His mother’s voice, with the warm rolling lilt of the Caribbean still lingering, made Sam smile. At least she didn’t sound angry.  
  
    “Thanks, ma,” he said quietly, unconscious of how the shadow of his mother's dialect slipped into his voice. “Sarah around?”   
  
_“She still at church, honey. But she comin’ back in time for lunch. You almost here?”_  
  
_Shhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiit._  He always had a post-birthday meal with his mother; ever since his father had been killed when he was a child, he and his sister had made it their duty to visit their mother for every birthday and holiday that they could.   
  
    “Ahh… ma, I overdid last night. Don’t feel good.”  
  
_“Sam, you_ ** _always_** _overdoin’ it. You and Anaya give me grey hair, y’know.”_  
  
    “Ma, you don’t _have_ grey hair.”  
  
_“Well… if I did, it’s your fault. Is Ana coming to lunch? Saved her a place.”_  
  
    “Uh-uhn, she in even worse shape than me. But she’ll come see you next week like she promised.”  
  
_“Okay.”_ She paused, and Sam knew it was coming…   
_“Sam… that picture…”_  
  
His mother didn’t have a homophobic bone in her body, having easily accepted and loved Riley while he and Sam had dated, but that didn’t mean she’d understand her son dating not one, but _two_ supersoldiers from the 1940s… at the same time.  
  
_No use denying it._  
  
    “Yeah, ma. It was an accident-- sending the pic. Sorry… like I said, I overdid.”  
  
_“Mhmm. Sammy… is it… something like Riley?”_ Her voice was gentle; she had been devastated by Riley’s death and had been there for Sam through some of the ugliest parts of his grieving process. She wanted to know if her son had found love again, with another man. _Or rather,_ ** _men_** _. How the fuck am I gonna tell her_ ** _that_** _part?_  
  
    “Uh… yeah. Yeah, ma, something like that.”  
  
She was quiet for a little bit, and Sam heard the kitchen timer go off. Sam’s mother might have lived alone, but when her children came by, she cooked as though 18 starving teenagers were on their way. He could imagine the smell of roast beef… macaroni pie… cornbread… his stomach growled loudly enough that his mother heard through the phone, and she laughed softly.  
  
    “Heard **_that_** _, baby. You comin’, right?”_  
  
    “Of course, ma.”  
  
_“Good. So, Sam… which one you seeing?”_  
  
    “Huh?”  
  
_“There’s two of ‘em in the picture-- why you got_ ** _such a thing_** _for white boys I’ll never know--”_ she was teasing him now, feeling relieved that he was talking to her about what could have been a prickly subject. _She has no idea what she’s in for._ Sam steeled himself, covering the phone briefly as Steve yawned loudly and stretched.   
  
    “ _Shhhh_ ,” he cautioned the other two.   
“Uhm… ma. I’m…”  
  
_“Is it the blond one? Ooh he pretty, I’ll say that. Lookit those eyelashes. Or the brunet? That jawline could cut glass, eh? My boy has good taste…”_ she was trying her best to be supportive, not knowing that the banter was making her son scream inwardly.  
  
    “Ma. Uh… the pretty blond…” Steve sat up slightly, exchanging a look with Bucky. Bucky signed “ _He’s talking to his mother,”_ eliciting a look of genuine alarm from Steve.  
  
_“Ahh, the blond,”_ Sam’s mother replied.”That’s nice, baby. What’s his name? He comin’ to lunch?”  
  
Sam felt like a teenager trying to introduce his very first date to his mom. “His name’s Steve. Look, ma--”  
  
_“I made things a little spicy today; I hope he can eat it. He looks...”_ _Very white_ , she said but didn’t say.   
_“...like he don’t eat a lot of spicy food,_ ” she said judiciously.

She laughed before continuing, _“I know you and Sarah like your beef with a whole heap of pepper, so--”_  
  
    “ _Ma._ ”  
  
_“Yes, Sam?”_  
  
    “And the brunet.”  
  
There, it was out.  
  
_“The brunet, sweetheart?”_  
  
    “The… y’know, the one with the jawline.”  
  
Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. He’d be weirdly flattered, if he didn’t know that Sam was tiptoeing around a potential landmine.   
  
_“Oh…?”_ his mother sounded a little confused. _“He coming too? Friend of you and… what was it, Steve?”_ She paused. _“I mean… you look v_ ** _ery friendly_** _, but I thought it was just a young people t'ing...”_  
  
Sam allowed himself a tiny grin. At least _some_ one still thought of him as young.  
“Uh, well… he’s not ...exactly a friend…” _Not_ ** _only_** _a friend, anyway_.  
  
_“Sweetie, I’m not following.”_  
  
    “He’s… they’re both like… Riley, ma. To me.”  
  
He could hear her stunned silence loud and clear.  
  
_“Samuel Thomas Wilson, you two-timing this Steve fella?”_  
  
    “ _What?!_ Ma, no! They’re both… uh… we’re… all… together…” Sam’s voice got quieter and quieter as he continued.   
  
_“Beg pardon?”_  
  
    “Ma…”  
  
_“You seein’_ ** _two_** _people. And they’re…”_  
  
    “...seeing each other as well, ma.”  
  
_“You must have lost your damn mind, Sam.”_  
  
Sam cringed. Not the easy acceptance he’d been sort of hoping for.   
  
    “I know it sound crazy. I just… can we talk 'bout this in person?”  
  
Steve and Bucky were wide awake now, staring at Sam. _Yikes._  
  
_“All right, Samuel.”_  
  
_Uh-oh. She called me ‘Samuel.’_  
  
_“Although it’s probably best if your… partners… join us later rather than now.”_ She spoke formally, as she often did when she was slightly displeased.   
  
    “Of course, ma. They’ll stay here. I’ll come to you.”  
  
_“… stay… there? They both with you now?”_  
  
_Oh my god, Sam. Oh my god. Just grab your wing pack, bust out a window, and never come back._  
  
    “I meant… figuratively. They’ll stay here. Uhm.”  
  
_“I’m a grown woman, Samuel, don’t play me for a fool. You better come quick before your sister arrives. Unless you wanna talk ‘bout this with her around.”_   
  
_Hell no._ Things would be awkward enough without his sister having to hear about her big brother’s love life.   
  
    “Okay, ma. See you soon. I… I love you.”  
  
    _“Love you too, baby.”_   
  
Sam almost slumped with relief after he ended the call. He’d known deep down that she’d love and accept him no matter what, but hearing the words still made him feel better.  


He looked up to meet two pairs of anxious blue eyes. They all tried to speak at the same time.  
  
    “That--” Bucky started.   
  
    “Are--” Steve accidentally interrupted.   
  
    “I’m--” Sam blurted. They all grinned awkwardly at each other.   
  
Steve reached out for Sam’s hand and lightly squeezed it.   
  
    “You okay?” he asked, the concern evident in his voice. Bucky looked on quietly, rubbing at his scarred shoulder. He’d removed his prosthetic sometime during the night; by this time, he had it off more often than not when he was at Sam’s or Steve’s.   
  
    “I dunno, but I gotta go to my mom’s,” Sam said hastily, tugging at Steve’s arm and sharing a swift kiss with him. Bucky nodded and half-shuffled, half-crawled across the bed to kiss Sam on the lips in farewell. Steve looked thoughtful for a moment.

    “You have a little bit of an accent when you’re talking to your mom, you know that?”  
  
    “What? No I don’t.”   
  
    “Kinda do,” Bucky said, already sprawled in bed again. “It’s _cute_ .”   
  
    “Fuck you, Barnes.”   
  
    “How come you don’t always sound like that?” Steve asked, handing Sam his keys.   
  
Sam took a few moments to gather himself; his head was pounding from his hangover and now he had to go convince his mother (and maybe his sister) that this polyamorous relationship wasn’t totally off the rails.   
  
    “Okay, so… you hang out here. I might need moral support later if this goes to hell. And if it doesn’t… well… wear a nice button-up shirt and make sure your hair is tidy.”   
  
    “What? Why?” Bucky frowned in confusion.   
  
    “Because she _will_ invite you to lunch and you gotta pass inspection. I mean… if you want to.” Sam was an independent, free-thinking man, but he wouldn’t pretend that his mother’s opinion didn’t matter at all to him. _Fuck, we’re already at the ‘meeting my mother’ phase? Jesus._   
  
    “Oh. Uh… we’ll do our best,” Steve said, already looking worried.  
  
Sam disappeared briefly to splash water on his face and brush his teeth. As he pulled on his jeans and put on a clean shirt and denim jacket, he spoke to Steve and Bucky.   
“And about my so-called ‘accent’... do me a favour and google ‘code-switching’.”   
  
His quick grin as he left was his only answer to their confused looks.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: It's a good thing Sam never takes OTHER sorts of pictures with his guys, amiright
> 
> Don't worry, no sadness ahead, ok? Cross my heart and .... cross my heart again [I'm not dying over a fic, y'all]
> 
> ETA: I've come back and tweaked the dialogue a bit because I've decided that Sam's mum is from the Caribbean. Cos why not :D)


	27. could be blown way out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Darlene Wilson. Y'all ain't ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes: Damn, guess what? We're genuinely almost done with this fic. Only 1 or 2 chapters left! And they'll be posted by the end of the year, dammit. They WILL.
> 
> Also, Mama Wilson, Sarah and occasionally Sam are speaking a kind of Americanized Caribbean creole/patois. It's not 'bad English,' ok? Ok.)

    “Go on again,” she said, arching an eyebrow as she poured cream into her tea. Sam stared at the clouds that appeared in the dark liquid, stalling for time-- but lunch was warming in the oven, and his sister would be home any minute. His mother could out-wait him any day; he’d learned that during the eat-your-broccoli/do-your-homework/no-more-cartoons tantrums he’d thrown as a little kid.  
  
Sam took a breath and met his mother’s steady gaze.   
“Okay. So -- me and Steve. Steve and Bucky. Me and Bucky. Me and Steve and Bucky.” Sam used his index fingers to draw imaginary lines in the air, eventually ending up with a triangle.   
  
    “But, why? Why you need three? Why not just two?” Her tone wasn’t accusatory, but Sam was still cringing a little bit on the inside. This had been the question he’d been nervous about. His mother waited patiently again, smoothing down her hair. She had remained largely unchanged in Sam’s eyes since he was in his 20s; only a few lines around her eyes and mouth from the exuberance with which she lived. She was in her mid-60s and barely looked 50, but at the moment, she mostly looked unimpressed with Sam’s hemming and hawing.   
  
Sam desperately wanted to check his phone, just for something to do with his hands, but he knew his mother would go from impassive to irritated quickly if he didn’t focus on the task.   
“Why three. Because… them-- they’re both different, ma. They give me different things I need. I give them different things they need. We all-- I dunno, it works.”   
  
    “Baby, don’t take this the wrong way, but that sound like one bag o’ foolishness.”   
  
Sam had obviously gotten his directness from this woman.   
  
    “How you mean, ma?”   
  
Darlene stirred her tea, clearly thinking. Darlene Wilson wasn’t one to rush into doing or saying something she’d regret; unlike her son, she didn’t have much of an impulsive streak. In fact, she was little like Sam; she was lanky where he was muscular; where Sam’s skin was a warm dark mahogany, hers was a tawny brown, and her thick black hair, now generously streaked with silver, was always straightened and elegantly curled. Sam had gotten most of his looks from his father. (According to Darlene, he’d also gotten his ‘wild streak’ from his father.)   
  
Sam looked up as the front screen door clattered open, his sister Sarah entering their mother’s house with an armful of dangerously teetering tupperware containers. She was a few years younger than Sam, darker, significantly smaller and shorter than him (he used to call her ‘Pixie’ when they were kids; she always tried to hit him when he did). She had the same teasing glint in her eyes, the same small gap in her teeth, and a laugh that had no business coming from such a tiny body.   
  
    “Sammy!” she called, happy to see him. Sam glanced at his mother, who didn’t move, before going to help his sister. Sarah leaned up to kiss his cheeks, pinching one of them and grinning at his childish scowl.   
  
    “You get _big_ ee _,_ Sam. Jesus. Avengerin’ come with a good gym plan? How you doin'?” Sam grinned at the easy way she mixed Caribbean patois with American English, far more easily than he did nowadays. He tended to weave in and out of it.   
  
    “Which part of me have Avengers money, gyal?" he shot back, laughing. "I not too bad. How’s teaching?”   
  
Sarah sighed. “Reeba mash Play-do in my hair. Had to cut it off.” She indicated her newly-shorn afro, which was usually a huge majestic cloud of hair. Sam grimaced sympathetically.   
  
    “Sorry, Pixie. You lookin’ good wit’ it, though.”   
  
They chattered away as they entered the kitchen, Sarah bending to kiss her mother’s cheek.   
  
    “Anyway, this relationship thing… I say it sound like foolishness because it sound _selfish,_ ” his mother continued, as though there had been no interruption. Sarah raised her eyebrows as she set out the containers on the kitchen counter, more at her brother’s strange flinch than at her mother’s words.   
  
    “ _Ma_ , Sarah's right here-- okay. Uh…”   
  
    “What happen?” Sarah piped up, opening the lid of one of the containers. The smell of oxtail stew filled the air and Sam’s stomach groaned in anticipation.   
  
    “Your brother seeing _two_ gentlemen at the same time. Some kind of… group thing,” his mother answered primly, looking at her daughter. Sarah kept her face carefully impassive. Sam occasionally dating men had long ceased being a surprise to her, but this…   
  
    “Oh. That sound… uhm… _modern_ ,” was all she said.   
  
When her mother turned away, Sarah allowed her face to register her shock as she mouthed “ _What the hell?!_ ” at her brother. He shrugged ruefully, appreciating her faking nonchalance in front of their mother for his sake.   
  
    “Okay, ma. It not… I don’t think it’s selfish. We all really like each other--” _Dammit, talking about this in front of Sarah is awkward_ .   
  
    “You say they each give you somethin’ different.”   
  
    “Yeah…”   
  
    “These things-- you need the whole o’ them? I just can’t understand why not just _two_ of you, Sam.”   
  
    “Hmmm…” Sam had to admit that she was at least making an effort to understand, as opposed to digging her heels in and saying _no_ . And at least she wasn’t asking about his sex life, which would have made Sam set himself on fire right there at the dinner table without hesitation.   
“Okay… Steve’s like--”   
  
    “Hol’ on _hol’ on_ , you mean Steve _Rogers_ ? Your Avenger friend? _Captain America ‘Steve’?_ ” his sister blurted, unable to hide her surprise anymore. Their mother waved her off.   
  
    “Mhm, _that_ Steve. Hush up and let Sam finish.”   
  
Sam tried to ignore Sarah’s bulging eyes and cleared his throat. “Yeah. So. Steve’s like…” _He’s like home. Fuck, I can’t say that to ma. I wanna throw up even thinking that._ _  
_   
He did his best, telling his mother about how Steve wasn’t perfect, how he knew that and did his best to be good to everyone. How he was a _good guy_ , through and through -- and sure, that was expected of Captain America. He couldn’t bring himself to talk about how gentle Steve was. How comfortable he was. How easy to love. How he bought Sam flowers, when so few people ever thought to buy men flowers. How he made pancakes (that Sam not-so-secretly despised,) because he knew Sam hated getting up early to make breakfast. How often he told Sam that he was beautiful and loved, just to see him blush and get all flustered. How he liked to draw Sam. How he traced his fingers over Sam’s lips, telling him exactly how beautiful he was. How he took Sam to rugby games despite hating the sport. How his teasing was to make Sam smile (unlike Barnes, who was merely an asshole.) How he went out of his way to make Sam know how lucky Steve felt to be with him.   
  
He suspected his mother would either laugh aloud or get all teary-eyed if he said any of this. Sam wasn’t sure which reaction would be worse.   
_  
_ What he _did_ manage to say was: “He makes me wanna be… better. And he… told me I make him wanna be better, too. We’re a team and… we trust each other. We got each other’s backs. Always.” His face was definitely hot now, and he felt the slightest prickle of emotion creeping into his voice. _If I cry in front of them I’m gonna slam my face through the dining table._ Sarah appeared beside him, squeezing his shoulder supportively.   
  
    “Okay,” his mother said quietly. “And… what him name? Bucky?” A ghost of a smile flitted across her face, her amusement at the unusual name apparent for a second.   
“Tell me ‘bout him. Tell me why you need him, too.”   
  
_Shit._ This was putting him through the emotional wringer, but he desperately wanted his mother to understand… to see…   
  
    “Barnes-- sorry. Bucky. He’s… really different. He’s uh… he’s had a rough life. We didn’t start out on the best of terms,” he said, thinking wryly how his mother would react if she knew that the man had tried to kill her son upon their first meeting.   
“We’re… we just work. Barnes is kinda like me--”   
  
    “Must be a dyam fool,” his sister muttered. He shot her an annoyed look.   
  
    “ _Any_ way. He’s... not gonna write me a poem or anything, not so much. Me nuh-- I dunno. He gets me. Like how I’m feeling, or the dumb sh-- uh-- _stuff_ I do. We understand each other. He was a soldier too. Seen some stuff. Taken some damage. Come out of it just this… strong guy.” No need to go into details there.   


Sam trailed off, leaving unsaid how Bucky always knew exactly how much cocoa Sam liked in his coffee. How he danced to Sam’s records when he was in a good mood (always making sure to point out that he was a superior dancer to Steve.) How much he loved peanut butter, but would always offer Sam the last spoonful in the jar. How he called Sam ‘honey’ initially as a joke, and somewhere along the way stopped doing it ironically. How he brushed his lips across Sam’s forehead in the mornings, no matter how many times Sam complained that Bucky needed to use more Chapstick. How easy silence was with him. How he held onto Sam when he wanted to curl into himself, and vice versa.  
  
His mother had let him muse in silence without interrupting, his sister quietly moving away to begin dishing out their late lunch.  
  
    “And you feel you need _alla_ these things?” Sam’s mother asked, her face still serious.  
  
    “I do.”  
  
    “You love them, Sammy? _Both_ of them?”  
  
_Shit._  
  
    “I… yeah. I do, ma.”  
  
She was quiet, nodding her thanks as Sarah set a heaping plate in front of her.   
“Well… I can’t say I understand, baby. I can’t. And I dunno if I approve. It sound like it could get messy and I don’t want you get hurt again.”  
  
Sam nodded slowly, not saying anything. His mother’s explicit approval would have been the best outcome, of course-- but maybe it was a lot to ask all at once. _Baby steps._ His mother’s next words made him feel a rush of relief:  
“But if them both treat you well-- _both_ of them-- I guess you just never know where you goin’ find love. If you saying you all okay… then okay.”   
  
    “… really?”  
  
    “Mhm.”  
  
    “Ma--”  
  
    “So you goin’ call them?”  
  
Sarah spoke up. “Ma, you were just all over Sam’s business for the last half hour! Leave him alone, nuh…”  
  
    “No, child. I need to meet these men who stole my son’s heart,” Darlene replied smartly, spearing a cherry tomato on her fork. “Call them. Lunch can go on keepin’ warm in the oven till they get here.”

 

* * *

  
Sam was relieved to see that Steve and Bucky had taken his warning about looking presentable to heart. Steve was wearing a blue shirt (he favoured blue; go figure) that nicely complimented his eyes, and Bucky had gone with grey and black, offsetting his pale skin and dark hair. 

  
    “Hey… come in,” Sam said, moving aside to let the men pass. It felt a little weird to have them both here, but he’d given them the option to bow out of meeting his family. They’d risen to the challenge.   
  
    “They here? Lemme see-- ahh, hello Captain!” Darlene was in full hostess mode, smiling brightly as she ushered them into the sitting room. She’d had some time to digest her chat with Sam, and had decided for now to go along with the incomprehensible arrangement-- as long as she deemed the men in question to be worthy.  
  
    “Afternoon, ma’am… please, just ‘Steve’ is fine,” Steve murmured, smiling a little shyly. She grinned, something reminiscent of Sam’s teasing smirk on her face.   
  
    “All right, ‘just Steve.’ And this must be… Bucky? Barnes? James? Sorry, dear heart, what you go by?”  
  
Bucky smiled disarmingly, ducking his head. “Anything at all, Mrs. Wilson.”  
  
    “‘James’ okay? Good, solid name.”  
  
    “Of course.”  
  
    “Lovely home you have here, ma’am,” Steve said, looking admiringly around her house. He caught Sam’s eye and just barely kept his composure; Sam had looked revolted at the compliment. Darlene favoured brightly coloured synthetic flowers and tiny trinkets of animals that just skirted the line of being ‘sickeningly adorable.’ The decor was many things, but Sam would never call it ‘lovely.’  
  
    “Thank you! Ahhh, don’t look so worried. Go on an’ sit, and we’ll get a little somethin’ to eat,” Sam’s mother said, nudging Steve lightly with her elbow. Steve grinned, slightly embarrassed at having been called out yet again for his overly formal manner.  
“Oh _lawd_ , look how pink he turnin’, too! Sam--”   
  
    “ _Ma_ , make him have a drink before you start embarrass him, nuh?” Sam groaned, slipping into patois again (unseen by him, Bucky’s expression softened considerably and Steve all but beamed.)  
  
    “Eh, don’t act out ‘cause you little boyfriends here, you know,” Darlene said smartly, making Sam sigh deeply. Sarah all but cackled, much as she always had when her big brother got heckled by their mother.   
“James, sweetheart, you could help an old woman out in the kitchen?” Darlene called.   
  
    “You not _old_ , ma,” Sam said, frowning as Bucky stood to follow her to the kitchen.   
  
    “Wasn't chatting to you, baby. Go on, introduce Steve to Sarah and entertain them. Don’t be rude.”  
  
Sam scowled. He hated being babied by his mother.   
  
Bucky was gone a significantly longer time than grabbing some snacks should have taken, but Sarah and Sam were too busy chatting with Steve to really take notice. After some initial shyness, Sarah had found herself in deep discussion with Captain America.  
  
  
  
    “-- so you think you woulda marched during the Civil Rights protests? That woulda make a lot of ‘patriots’ real angry,” she was saying as Bucky re-entered the room. Sam leaned back in his chair, content to listen (he and Steve had had this, and many other such discussions already.)  
  
Steve rubbed his chin, thinking.

    “You could argue that it’s easy to say ‘yes’ because history’s clearly proven the wrong and right sides… but it was and _is_ injustice. I _would_ have--”  
  
    “In yuh uniform?” Sarah asked shrewdly.  
  
    “No,” Steve answered immediately, “that'd draw attention away from the protesters.”  
  
Sarah allowed a small smile. “Sound like somebody ‘round Sam a lot.” Before Steve could reply, Bucky returned.  
  
    “Got some beer,” Bucky said, passing around bottles, “and Sarah, your mother says you get a ginger ale since you’re expecting.”  
  
Sam sat up suddenly. “Yuh _what?!_ ”  
  
    “James,” Sarah groaned, hiding her face in her hands, “It was a surprise!”  
  
    “But _why_?” Sam exclaimed as Bucky sat next to him, looking abashed. Sarah smiled, shaking her head.  
  
    “Then, nuh your birthday--”  
  
    “The day _after_ my birthday.”  
  
    “Shut your mouth. It’s your birthday, I didn’t wan’ steal your thunder…”  
  
    “Sarah-- _gyal_ \-- this is-- I’m an uncle?! Shit…!”  
  
    “If these two here play their cards right, Sarah baby might get _three_ uncles, nuh so?” Darlene said from the doorway. Bucky’s eyebrows shot up and Steve flushed pink.  
“Steve,” Sam’s mother continued, pointedly ignoring the fact that her son had choked on his beer, “I need little help with some seasoning.”  
  
    “Ma… him-- he’s the _worst cook in the world,_ ” Sam protested.  
  
    “It’s true, Mrs. Wilson, I am,” Steve agreed ruefully. “But I’m happy to lend a hand.”  
  
    “Thank you, Steve.” If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d swear that Bucky grimaced sympathetically beside him. He definitely _wasn’t_ imagining the crafty little smile that his mother had as she led the large man into the kitchen.  


* * *

  
    “You want some more a’ the macaroni pie, Steve?” Darlene asked, wrapping cellophane around another plate. Sarah was in the living room, saying her goodbyes to Sam, who was still excited about her surprise. ‘Samantha’ and ‘Samuel Jr.’ had already been strongly suggested as names for the baby. Sarah was unimpressed. 

  
    “Uh…” Steve wanted to haul home every last scrap of food she’d cooked, but was still hesitant about showing off his superhuman appetite just yet. Bucky had had no such qualms, glowingly praising the cooking as he asked for seconds and thirds. Darlene had been thrilled; usually, she was stuck with at least a week’s worth of leftovers after her kids left.   
  
    “ _I’d_ never say no to more macaroni pie,” Bucky spoke up from beside Steve. They’d offered to do the dishes, and Darlene had been more than happy for the help. She had taken to Steve and Bucky fairly easily, clearly appreciating their good (if oddly old-fashioned) manners, and their obvious fondness for Sam. In typical fashion, her son had pretended to dislike their attentions, gently mocking them both, but she knew that he was quietly glowing. It made her happy to see that he had people who cared for him; she worried when he was hurting, because he so rarely let other people know about it.   
  
    “You love that pie, huh? My James eatin’ proper,” she said, patting his metal arm fondly. Although she had been curious about the mechanical appendage, she hadn’t asked anything other whether it was real metal, and even then she merely expressed sympathy at its probable weight.   
  
Bucky fought hard not to look too pleased. _I’m already her James.  
  
_     “All right boys, I think Sam ready to go… but I want to say something. Just us.”   
  
Steve dried the last plate and turned, straightening respectfully. Bucky followed suit.   
  
    “I don’t… I ain’t really seen nothing like this. You three. And I tell Sam, I say-- I don’t understand it. And … I don’t know how I feelin’ ‘bout it. I worry someone will get hurt. Or someone goin’ hurt _him_ ,” she said quietly, gesturing to Sam, who had picked a giggling Sarah up in the living room.   
“I _do_ know this,” she continued. “I know he need to be happy in this. I know he need to have love from _both_ of you-- but he not goin’ ask for it. Not out loud. Not my Sammy. But he need it. And if you two make him happy? Make him feel loved? Make him feel _safe_ ? Then… okay.”   
  
Bucky nodded slowly. “Of course.”   
  
    “There’s nothing we want more, Darlene.”   
  
    “Good. And I know everybody mama say this, but if you hurt him…”   
  
    “...you’ll kill us?” Bucky smiled weakly.   
  
    “Well… _he_ woulda probably kill you, to be honest. But I’d help. Now, come give me a hug and take these plates to go.”   


* * *

 

    “Feel like I’m gonna fuckin’ _explode_ ,” Sam groaned, flopping onto his couch. Steve looked up guiltily, having just torn the plastic wrap off one of the plates and stuffed some roast beef into his mouth.  
  
Bucky sat beside Sam and swung his legs across Sam’s, resting his back against one of the couch arms.   
  
    “Your mom’s somethin’ else-- I mean that in the best way,” he grinned.  
  
    “What’d she do to you guys anyway? I didn’t fall for that ‘help me in the kitchen’ bullshit.”  
  
    “She asked how we met, when we started dating. Stuff like that.”  
  
    “ _Jesus._ What’d you tell her?”  
  
    “Obviously not the whole truth,” Bucky said drily. _Ahh, yes, I met Sam when I was a brainwashed assassin and ripped the steering wheel right out of his car. It was hate at first sight._  
“I said we met through Steve.”  
  
    “Thmart,” Steve mumbled, his mouth still full. Sam made a face.  
  
    “Don’t be disgusting, Steve. How’re you still hungry?!”  
  
    “Din’t wan’ be wude an’ ee too muh ah yuh mahh hou’, bu’ food’th _tho goo’_...”  
  
    “Okay, you’re banned from talking until you finish eating.”  
  
    “Your mom and your sister… you talk different around them,” Bucky mused as Sam absentmindedly rubbed his legs.   
  
    “I know, I _know_ … ma’s from the Caribbean, and a lotta my friends when I was a kid were from the same region. I dunno, it pops up when I’m around them. Don’t be a dick about it--”  
  
    “No. It’s really… I like it. That side of you. It’s nice.” Bucky scrunched up his nose, not quite satisfied with how the compliment had come out, but Sam just nodded and gave him a small, almost shy smile.   
“Anyway... there was something else your mom asked,” Bucky continued.   
  
    “What?”  
  
    “If I loved you.”  
  
    “Schee axth me th’ _thame thing_!”  
  
    “Steve, I hope you choke, you nasty, no-manners… wait, she asked you that? Wow. Huh.” Sam wanted to ask what Bucky had said in reply, but it felt too much like fishing for affirmation.  
  
    “I told her yes,” Bucky continued casually, stretching his arms above his head and groaning as something cracked. Sam blinked.  
  
    “You did?”  
  
    “Well. Yeah. Should I have lied …?” Bucky asked.   
  
    “No, no, just… I wasn’t sure if… y’know. We were telling people.”   
  
    “You once said, and I quote, ‘Barnes is as subtle as a boot to the nuts.’ Why the fuck would I start now?”  
  
Laughing, Sam swatted his arm (the human one; he’d bruised his hands enough on the other one to learn quickly.) Steve emerged from the kitchen, sighing contentedly.  
  
    “Sorry about that,” he said. “I didn’t really eat this morning and the food was _so good_ \-- I hope she likes us. Or at least _me_. Because that macaroni pie...”  
  
    “Tell me you didn’t eat the whole fucking plate, Rogers.”  
  
    “Mighta done, Buck.”  
  
    “Fuck you. That was for _me_ ; _I’m_ her James…”  
  
    “You weird as hell. Stop fightin’ over my mama.” Sam looked at Steve.  
“So she grilled you too? Same questions?”  
  
    “Yeah… lucky our _actual_ meeting makes a good story. She thought it was real cute.”  
  
    “Yeah, _you_ think you’re real cute, with your ‘on your left’ bullshit.”  
  
    “You thought it was cute too,” Steve said, gesturing between himself and Sam.  
  
    “I hate it when he’s cocky, Barnes, don’t you?”  
  
    “I hate him forever now that he ate all the macaroni,” Bucky muttered.

 

* * *

 

    “Night, Sam.” Steve leaned in for a sweet, slow kiss as Bucky pulled his shoes on.   
  
    “Later. And, hey… thanks again. For everything.”   
  
    “Sure you don’t need us to stay?”   
  
    “I think we probably all need a little breathing room for a day or so. I know you’ll miss decent cooking, Steve… _and_ the two o’ you _ever_ up in my business,” Sam finished jokingly, letting just the slightest bit of his mother’s lilt creep back in now that he knew they thought it was cute. Steve gave him a soppy look that would have been horrible on any other face, and Bucky just heaved a little huff of amusement that was ruined when he smiled gently right after.   
  
    “Okay, we’ll get outta your hair…?” Steve said, failing to hide the hope in his voice. He never seemed to get tired of being around the two of them-- not that Sam got _tired_ of them, he just liked his alone time occasionally.   
  
    “Yeah, get your flat little behind outta here. Absence makes the blah blah. Git.” Sam jerked his chin towards the door, only half-jokingly; Steve didn’t even fake mock outrage at the comment on his ass (he was used to it by now.)   
  
Sam gave Steve another kiss to make up for booting them out, but was soon interrupted by Bucky insisting on receiving his customary lingering farewell hug. He enjoyed kissing as much as Steve did, but hugs and simple touches were still something he craved. Sam sighed contentedly as Bucky squeezed him gently, kissing his cheek and neck.   
  
Bucky tripped Steve on the way to the elevator. (He was still bitter about his macaroni.)

 


	28. feels like my life is ready to blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sweet domestic life, finally. (Gratuitous sex scene included.)

Over the next few months, the three of them settled into a routine of sorts. Things weren’t always perfect: Sam played his music too loud and his Skype sessions with Anaya could be heard from almost anywhere in the house; Bucky got motor oil in the rug and was on a subtle but unrelenting campaign to get a dog; Steve’s paintbrushes and coloured pencils somehow found their way between every couch cushion and blanket fold, and some days he seemed to want to fight the world (Sam left Bucky to spar with him on those days, because _no_ .)  
  
Steve and Bucky had the occasional minor tiff, often about something Bucky couldn’t remember, or some jarring change that was hard on both of them. Sam, for the most part, stayed out of those; he was there as a partner, but not as a counsellor. That wasn’t his job (nor was it a good idea.)  
  
As was inevitable, Bucky had once said something stupid (not quite #AllLivesMatter stupid, but close) and Sam had furiously gone off on him, spurring Bucky to do some research about why what he’d said had been Very Bad. He’d apologised vigorously, and Sam had eventually forgiven him. After a week. And a half.  
  
Sam had gotten sick of Steve walking on eggshells around him and snapped at him to ‘act normal’; Steve had angrily replied that he didn’t know what normal _meant_ anymore with them, and it had taken a few days for them to stop puffing up like angry cats anytime the other so much as _breathed_ in their direction. Bucky had given up on trying to make them talk and moodily made cupcakes (it was his thing. Aside from taking motors apart, that is.)  
  
But overall? Things were good. Really, really good.

 

  
  
  
ROGERS: I’m making dinner. I promise it won’t kill you.

Sam looked up from the proposal he was typing up on his laptop; a confidential LGBT group meeting on weekends, to deal with vets who needed someone to talk to. He smiled as he read the text message; Steve was just down the hallway, but he knew Sam was busy and so didn’t disturb him.

  
_SAM W.: sure just lemme tel my moms i love her_  
  
_B.: ill bring the wine & the pepto bismol _  
  
_ROGERS: You guys are gonna eat those words. It’ll be ready by 9._  
  
SAM W.: we’ll eat words. as long as we dont have 2 eat ur food.  
  
B.: lol  


* * *

   
A few months before, Steve had invited Sam and Bucky over to his place, promising to order in instead of cooking for them. When Sam had arrived, Bucky was already there, debating what kind of food to order.  
  
Well, that’s what the conversation had started as, anyway. What Sam walked in on was a pretty heavy makeout session.  
  
    “When you two are done, we’re ordering pizza from the _good_ place, and if either of you even thinks the word ‘Dominos’ I’m breaking up with both of you,” Sam said loudly as he passed them on the couch. Steve looked up and just barely managed to grab Sam’s hand before he was out of reach.  
  
    “Sam-- we were waiting for you.”  
  
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t look like you waited for much,” he replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  
  
Bucky gave Sam a half-exasperated, half-amused look that was eerily reminiscent of Sam’s own patented Unimpressed Looks.  
“Quit sulking, Wilson. C’mere.”  
  
\---  


    “I th-thought you had something to… talk to… us… about,” Sam gasped less than 10 minutes later as Bucky’s right hand palmed mercilessly at his cock, driving almost all thought from his mind. Steve regretfully broke away from kissing Sam and groaned.  
  
    “Right, I did…” Suddenly, a slow, wicked smile curled his lips. “Buck. Stop.”  
  
Bucky looked askance at Steve, raising his eyebrows. “Don’t wanna.”  
  
    “I know, but… look at Sam.”  
  
Sam was breathing heavily, his entire body on edge. Just the way he liked it. Bucky grinned and stopped, causing Sam to make a noise of frustration.  
  
    “Let’s talk.” Steve sat up, adjusting his couch cushion and smoothing his hair as though he and Bucky hadn’t just been all over Sam moments ago.  
  
    “Oh, _fuck_ you, Steve.” Sam sounded slightly shaky as he moved gingerly to an upright position. Steve merely smiled calmly, enjoying their little game. Bucky moved closer to Sam, more as an excuse to touch him than anything else.  
  
    “I wanted to ask you two something.”  
  
    “Fine,” Sam sighed, accepting Bucky’s arm around his waist. Steve looked at them with a fond half-smile before continuing.  
  
    “We’ve been doing this a while now… and it’s been good. Great.”  
  
Sam’s mind finally wandered away from his distracting hard-on. _This is either a breakup speech or a marriage proposal._  
  
    “So I thought… we could uh… step it up, so to speak.”  
  
_Okay, not a breakup._  
  
    “Steve, what the fuck are you talking about?” Bucky asked, laughing a little. Steve made a face, knowing he was stalling as he always did when he had something big to say.  
  
    “You askin’ us to marry you?” Sam snorted. “‘Cos I have dibs on wearing white. I look good in white.”

  
    “You think you look good in everything,” Bucky muttered.  
  
    “I _do_ look good in everything.”  
  
    “And nothing,” Steve added, nodding.  
  
    “Steve Rogers, either you finish jerking me off or stop talking dirty. And stop avoiding the subject. What you asking us, man?” Sam was frowning slightly, trying to figure out where this was all going. _Is he actually asking us to marry him, or…?_  
  
    “Ah… right. So… what do you two think of us… moving in together?” Steve anxiously ran a hand through his hair, his cheeks aflame.  
  
Bucky looked distinctly unimpressed. “Oh. Is that all?”  
  
Steve gave him a withering look.  
  
Sam was chewing his lip thoughtfully. “I play my music real loud, Steve.”  
  
    “I know. Kind of hard to miss.”  
  
    “Shut up, old man. And… and I need time alone sometimes.”  
  
    “We all will.”  
  
    “I have other friends. They’ve gotta be welcome in my home.”  
  
    “Of course.”  
  
Bucky added, “I want a weight room. And a place with a garage.”  
  
    “We’ll do our best,” Steve grinned. Sam hummed thoughtfully.  
  
    “I’ve just got one more thing. Non-negotiable. Make or break.”  
  
    “Anything,” Steve said, his face serious. He wanted this more than anything else, and was willing to do almost anything.  
  
    “I want the biggest room.”  
  
    “... nice try, Sam.”

 

 

 

Sooner than any of them expected, Sam, Steve and Bucky had settled into an oddly comfortable tangle in their fairly shitty, fixer-upper townhouse. Sam had liked the area that his old apartment was in, so they’d stayed nearby; although Sam and Steve didn’t officially work for S.H.I.E.L.D anymore, they found they weren’t completely flat broke. Between Sam saving his meagre pay from the DVA, Steve’s savings from before S.H.I.E.L.D had gone to hell, and Bucky’s full-time job as a mechanic, they scraped together enough to get a place.  
  
It wasn’t easy, but all of them were used to less-than-glamorous lives; besides, as Sam had pointed out, they’d saved a lot by renting an older, slightly dilapidated place. It didn’t take long to whip the place into serviceable shape between the three of them, and by winter they’d settled into a real home. (It wouldn’t be featured on HGTV unless it was the ‘before’ in a renovation show, but _still_.)  
  
Their living room was sparsely furnished, a few items of Sam and Steve’s dwarfed by the huge emptiness. It would take a while before they had enough funds to decorate the place, but for the meantime they were mostly content with the huge floor cushions, rugs, and eclectically hideous knit blankets that they’d pilfered from various second-hand shops. The best and worst thing about the living room was the fireplace, an ungodly huge abomination that filled the room with smoke the first time they’d tried it. Steve and Bucky adored the damn thing, as they got cold incredibly easily (running hot will do that to a body), but Sam was satisfied sitting several feet away.  
  
And yes, they’d fucked more times than they could count in front of said fireplace (they’d gotten dangerously close to setting themselves on fire a couple of times. Worth it.)  
  
  
  
  
  


Although life wasn’t what most people would call ‘normal,’ it still settled into a familiar, comfortable rhythm of sorts. Steve and Sam had the romantic date nights and early morning jogs (Sam never caught up to him), long discussions about social issues as Steve doggedly attempted to make something for dinner that wouldn’t make his boyfriends recoil, and quiet moments where Steve just watched Sam, who more often than not was poring over his laptop, rifling through his record collection, or reading with the tiniest frown on his face (he’d started wearing his reading glasses once Steve and Bucky had expressed their enthusiasm for the ‘hot professor’ look.) Sam always felt his eyes on him and looked up, either to jokingly tell him to mind his business or just to smile. Steve was still shy about singing, but he always sang quietly to Sam and Bucky when the mood struck, usually when the three of them were quietly reading, when he mixing paint for a new piece, or poring over scattered engine parts with Bucky. Just a little bit, always something old-- Ella or Billie-- but his voice never failed to make Sam’s heart flutter and Bucky’s smile to become gentle and wistful.

Bucky and Sam most enjoyed sitting in their backyard, smoking and sharing an iPod. Bucky had an impressive array of books on everything from Kant to Tolkien to complicated books mechanics to ancient bread recipes to interior design (if you _really_ wanted to set him off, talk to him about late 50s aesthetics.) He would sometimes _mhmm_ thoughtfully, or snicker under his breath, and read a short excerpt from the book aloud just to hear Steve and Sam debate the _true_ meaning of the quote, because he was and always would be a shit-starter. Bucky was something of a homebody now, contrary to his younger days; the outside world was loud and frantic and he just wanted some peace. Steve would often join them in the backyard, almost never smoking himself, ( _almost_ ) but just enjoying being near them. Sam often sat and watched Steve and Bucky work on their junker of a car, or Steve’s precious motorcycle, or some impossible-to-find engine, the origin of which Bucky was reticent to discuss. There was a lot of old-man griping about wrenches and wiring, which Sam found equal parts annoying and boring. He mostly read or worked on his laptop off to the side, being occasionally rewarded with one or both of the others getting overheated and peeling off their shirts. _That_ , at least, never got old.  
  
Since Sam valued his personal space a little more than the other two, Steve and Bucky were in each other’s rooms as often as not, but Bucky alway found some excuse to sneak into Sam’s room in the morning and curl up with him. All three of them usually ended up piled into Sam’s room at least a couple times a week (he had the nicest room of the three of them, despite all of their bedrooms being roughly the same size.) Any time not spent going out or working was spent either in the backyard or in their living room, quietly enjoying each others’ company (it was mostly quiet because they’d decided to forgo cable TV for hi-speed Internet.)  
  
Their weekdays were routine, almost boring in their simplicity: work, home, relax… and okay, maybe there was the occasional mini-invasion of super strong armadillos, or that time an entire building disappeared for 3 hours and then reappeared 4 blocks away and upside-down… but life was as normal as it could be for two men who would never quite stop being Avengers, and the man who was halfway towards becoming one anyway.

 

Mostly, boring domesticity was the name of the game, and the three of them were mildly surprised to find that they didn’t really want anything different.

 

Well, there was one perk: Sundays. Sometimes, Darlene would invite them to early dinner (she always prepared plenty of macaroni pie for her son’s enormous boyfriends) and they would help around the house, gardening or doing little repairs that she hadn’t had time to get around to. Other times, Steve or Bucky (or both) would visit Sam at the DVA as he hunched over yet more paperwork. They all but dragged him out for a coffee and some lunch, or else he’d likely skip it. Sunday mornings meant jogging (although Bucky didn’t join them that often, being surprisingly lazy about exercise on the weekends).  
  
Sunday _nights_ , however, were a different story.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
    “Buck, go ahead and grab Sam’s arms,” Steve ordered, draping his shirt over the back of the couch. Sam made a face, but allowed Bucky to use his arm to pin Sam’s behind his back. _That’s what I get for being lazy._  
“See? I told you to keep up,” Steve murmured, moving towards them. He paused in front of Sam and _almost_ touched his chest, knowing by now how best to get a reaction from the man. Instead, he leaned over Sam’s shoulder and kissed Bucky, slow and deep; Sam’s low groan told him he was on the right track. Bucky tightened his grip on Sam’s arms, feeling him squirm a little.  
  
Steve pulled away from Bucky and immediately dipped his head to nip at Sam’s neck, eliciting a sharp exhale from him. Bucky used his other hand to turn Sam’s head so that he could roughly kiss him, knowing that Steve loved seeing them together.

  
Outside in the summer heat, the cicadas sang loudly in the dark. A neighbour laughed loudly from across the street, the clink of bottles audible over their faint chatter. A car drove by, blaring techno music that rattled their windows. And then all was quiet again, as it usually was in their neighbourhood.  
  
The Wilson-Rogers-Barnes living room was a slightly different story. Not as quiet.  
  
    “You said you were gonna… what was it, ‘kick my ass’ today?” Steve asked, finally tracing his fingers down Sam’s bare torso. Sam moaned into Bucky’s mouth as they kissed, making Steve silently count his blessings for letting him have this moment.  
“Said you’d catch me for _sure_ ,” Steve continued, slipping his hands under the band of Sam’s pants. They’d gone jogging as usual that morning, but Sam, feeling cocky, had assured Steve that he would catch up to him that day. They’d made a wager; winner didn’t have to cook dinner for a week. The loser…  
  
As soon as Bucky and Sam broke for air, Steve reclaimed Sam’s lips as Bucky tightened his grip on Sam’s arms, making him arch his back slightly.  
     
    “Mmm. What was it we said would happen if Sam lost, Buck?” Steve murmured, absently unbuckling Sam’s belt and pushing at his jeans and boxers until they dropped to the floor. Bucky smiled a little as he reached down to stroke Sam, making eye contact with Steve.  
  
    “Dunno. Startin’ to think you lose on purpose.” This he said to Sam, lightly brushing his ear with his lips. Sam breathed unevenly, his head tilted back.  
  
He loved Sundays.  
  
Sam just about died when Steve’s tongue ran up the length of his shaft; he’d dropped to his knees and was agonisingly slowly torturing Sam with his mouth. Bucky exhaled slowly as he watched everything unfold, keeping his tight but painless grip on Sam’s arms. They’d done many variations of this several times now: Steve and Bucky lavishing Sam with attention, Sam trying to hold off as long as he could.  
  
It was a challenge when two attractive men were doing everything in their power to make his eyes roll back into his head.  
  
Steve hummed, the obscene sounds that accompanied him sucking Sam’s cock making Bucky unbearably hard (Sam might as well have been in another dimension for how far gone his mind was at the moment.) Bucky was usually quiet during sex, only responding when spoken to, or to make the rare request… with a few exceptions. He leaned in, quietly muttering things to Sam that Sam insisted he didn’t need to hear (but he secretly loved hearing them.) Words like _love_ and _beautiful_ and _sexy_ could just be heard above Steve’s enthusiastic noises, and Sam began breathing hard. _So close no no dammit not yet_  
  
Sam exhaled haltingly, his legs feeling like they were about to give out--  
  
And Steve stopped.  
  
   “Wh--” Sam’s eyes struggled to focus, his wits muddled from being on the edge of orgasm.  
   
    “Bedroom.” Steve’s voice was calm, his cheeks pink, his eyes gleaming in that particular way. Bucky eagerly leaned forward to kiss him, moaning quietly at tasting Sam on his lover’s lips.  
  
With all the groping, kissing and touching, it was a long, awkward stumble to Steve’s bedroom.  
  
  
  
  
  
Bucky held up one finger, and Sam nodded as he positioned himself. His hands were slick with lube, his nice sheets were ruined yet again, and he couldn’t have cared less. 

    “Ready, Buck?” Steve asked quietly, kneeling next to him. Bucky nodded, unable to speak around the ball gag. He held up his hand, signing “ _Okay.”_  
  
    “Okay, Barnes…” Sam slowly eased in as Steve closed a hand around Bucky’s throat. Bucky shuddered and held up two fingers, the agreed-upon signal for _more_. Steve had blanched at the idea of light choking the first time Bucky had shyly asked about it, but Sam had talked it through with both of them. There were some aspects of Bucky’s bedroom preferences that Steve had taken a little while to get used to… but when he’d seen how much Bucky had enjoyed it, he’d gotten on board. Steve gently increased the pressure as Sam bottomed out, withdrew slightly and watched Bucky’s face. His eyes were closed and he made a low moan, muffled by the gag.  
  
He held up three fingers. Steve hesitated. Bucky’s eyes opened and he touched his index finger and thumb together; _it’s okay._ He held up three fingers again. _More._  
  
Steve nodded and leaned down briefly to kiss Bucky’s forehead before continuing. Bucky grunted as Sam increased his pace, reaching down to stroke himself as he squeezed his eyes shut again. Steve glanced at Sam, memorising the details of the sheen of sweat on his body, the flexing of his thigh muscles as he snapped his hips double-time, making Bucky grunt and writhe under Steve’s hand. Steve breathed out heavily, controlling his own arousal. He always waited until last, enjoying the effort of bringing the other two men to orgasm any way he could. It was his own personal foreplay.  
  
Sam bit his lip. It was taking all of his concentration not to come; Bucky’s body responding to his efforts… the look on Steve’s face as he looked at them both… it was almost too much.  
  
Bucky held up four fingers. He was close. This time Steve didn’t falter, gripping Bucky’s throat in a way that would have hurt a regular person. Sam gripped Bucky’s hips and increased his pace, his own orgasm barely at bay. But he knew he had to hold on; this wasn’t over just yet--  
  
Bucky convulsed, his hand stilling as he came hard, his moan muffled by the gag. After a few moments, he held up a closed fist. _Stop._ Steve immediately removed his hand and pressed kisses to the reddened area, simultaneously reaching behind Bucky’s head to undo the buckle of the ball gag. Bucky groaned as it was removed and Sam carefully pulled out, narrowly avoiding coming. _Not yet._  
  
Steve was rubbing Bucky’s arm and chest, bringing him down with soothing words and gentle kisses. Bucky almost never wore his prosthetic arm during sex anymore, not wanting to accidentally hurt anyone and wanting to take the strain off his back, and Steve no longer shied away from that side of Bucky’s body (frankly ridiculous amounts of sex helped a lot.)  
  
Sam was considering laying down for a breather when Bucky surprised him by pulling at his arm, causing him to almost fall across him and Steve.  
  
    “Barnes… what are you… ?”  
  
Bucky wasn’t up to speaking just yet, but he motioned for Sam to straddle his hips. Sam, looking somewhat doubtful, started to do so-- until he saw the look Bucky gave Steve. And then the look they both gave Sam. _Your turn._ Sam felt a thrill of excitement as Steve gave Bucky one last kiss and turned to him. He hadn’t forgotten his little bet with Sam.  
  
Unlike Bucky, Sam wasn’t terribly quiet in bed; not when the others were successful in their attentions (which was pretty much always.) Steve talked, mixing his natural authority with some surprisingly dirty talk, Bucky mostly relied on gesture, facial expressions and touch, and Sam… Sam moaned and panted and made all kinds of delicious little sounds that he would never admit to making outside the bedroom.  
  
He let out a soft moan as Steve pushed lightly at the back of his neck, encouraging him onto all fours as he hovered over Bucky. Steve looked at Bucky again, who nodded and reached down to stroke Sam. Steve slowly moved closer to Sam, drawing out the moment in the way that Sam pretended to dislike but truly adored. He kissed and bit at Sam’s shoulder, causing him to grunt and jerk slightly. Bucky, smirking, stilled his hand and Sam groaned in frustration. Truly, _he_ was the one that liked putting it off as long as he could, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t wound up--  
  
Steve’s hands were sliding down his back. _When did he even get behind me?_ It was hard to think. Steve was waiting for Sam to make the next move, but he wasn’t idle; he firmly kneaded Sam’s ass as he murmured appreciatively. Sam breathed out a few times to steady himself and then bent forward slightly-- both to share a kiss with Bucky, and to give Steve the go-ahead.  
  
Bucky’s hand began moving on Sam’s cock again and he felt Sam’s slight hitch of breath as Steve carefully eased a lube-slick finger into him. He was still a little fuzzy from his own orgasm, but this… he could concentrate on this forever. Sam made a soft keening sound in his throat as Steve gently pressed another finger in, taking his time bringing Sam to pieces… and after what felt like an age, a third, keeping a low stream of praise going as he relaxed and teased Sam.

Sam let out a long, low sigh. “Okay,” he groaned. Bucky was an expert on keeping him on edge by now, knowing from his breathing when he was close, and knowing when to pull back. He paused again now as Steve moved behind Sam and slowly, steadily pressed into him. Sam’s eyes squeezed shut as he teetered on the line between pleasure and pain, and--  
  
_oh_  
  
His moan was much louder than he’d meant it to be. Bucky felt himself getting hard again, but he concentrated on kissing Sam, enjoying the sounds he tried so hard not to make.  
  
Steve hummed approvingly as he set a slow pace, knowing that this would be more than enough to send he himself over the edge. But not yet.  
  
Bucky carefully watched Sam’s face as Steve gradually increased his motion from ‘slow and loving’ to ‘fuck the life out of you.’ Sam was unable to stop himself from making small breathy sounds with each thrust, and Bucky matched Steve’s tempo with his hand.  
  
    “Steve,” Bucky called quietly. Sam was close, his breathing quite shaky now. Steve, barely holding control himself, pulled Sam’s upper body towards him so that he could bite hard at his neck.  
  
    “You know how you look right now, Sam?” he growled, relentlessly fucking up into him as Sam let out a strangled kind of groan.  
“You know what you do to me?”  
  
_So close so close_  
  
    “Come for us, Sam.” Bucky’s low voice and steadily pumping hand sent him careening towards an orgasm, and then--  
  
    “Love this. Love _you._ ” Steve was finally starting to sound breathless, meaning he himself was about to come. Sam was unable to stop himself from letting out a sound almost like a sob as he finally gave up control, Steve firmly holding him and Bucky slowing the pace. Despite having the best resilience of the three of them, Steve swiftly followed Sam, letting out a series of sharp exhalations as he came long and hard. Bucky stared at the picture;Steve, kneeling upright in the bed with Sam arching back against him, his lips parted in a low moan. Steve’s arms were wrapped possessively around Sam, his head slightly tilted back as his eyelashes brushed his cheeks . It was beautiful.  
  
    “Ah-- _ow_ ,” Sam hissed. Bucky quickly removed his hand, remembering that Sam tended to be too sensitive to touch after he came. Steve, barely able to think straight, carefully untangled himself from them, flopping heavily next to Bucky. He shared a lazy kiss with him before shuffling aside, waiting for Sam to join them. Sam exhaustedly crawled between them, not caring that they were all sweaty, not caring that the combined heat of Steve and Bucky would make him feel like he was trapped in a sauna, not caring that his sheets would need at least 2 runs in the rickety old washing machine.  
  
He nestled against Bucky’s shoulder; Bucky having removed his arm made it easier to cuddle up to him (not that Sam would ever call it _cuddling._ ) Steve sighed contentedly before propping himself up on one elbow to look at the other two.  
  
Sam turned his head to look at Steve.  
  
    “All this because I didn’t catch you today?”  
  
    “Yep.”  
   
    “What the fuck, Steve. I’ll never be able to run again after that.” Sam grinned, still breathing a little heavily.  
  
    “I mean, it's not like you were runnin' that fast  _before_ ,” Bucky offered. Sam kicked him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hollow-eyed look* I can't freaking believe we're almost done. 8 months in the making, I've moved twice, once halfway across the world, started school again... and I like to think I'm a better writer than I was last year. God only knows why I decided my very first published fanfic had to be a 80K nightmare, but I'm so proud of myself for finishing, and I'm SO grateful to every person that took the time to kudos and comment and encourage me to keep going. You're awesome. 
> 
> Wow that got emotional uh
> 
> LMAO SUPER-DICKS THO AMIRIGHT 
> 
> Next chapter is the last one, y'all. Fina-fucking-lly.


	29. that's what you get for dreaming aloud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys get an interesting phone call.

_“Captain Rogers?”_  
  
    “‘Steve’ is fine,” he said, leaning against the kitchen counter. Bucky was slumped behind him, his chin on Steve’s shoulder.  
  
_“Thanks for taking my call. I know it’s kind of early, but I thought since it’s a Monday holiday…”_  
  
    “No problem. What is it that you wanted to discuss, Ms…?”

  
Sam wandered into the kitchen, shuffling like someone who was awake far earlier than he’d like to have been (and like someone who had been very thoroughly fucked not too long ago.) Steve and Bucky always woke up early, but he usually took a little longer.  
  
Sam yawned widely as he accepted Bucky into his embrace, pressed a sleepy kiss to Steve’s bare back, and flopped onto an old stool that creaked alarmingly as his weight settled onto it. Bucky busied himself making coffee, one of the little ways he liked to show his care for Sam and Steve.  
  
_“Khan,”_ the caller said. She sounded young, with a bubbling enthusiasm that was just barely held in check by a thin layer of professionalism.  
  
    “How can I help you, Ms. Khan?”  
  
_“Please, call me Kamala. I mean. If you want to! I can be Ms. Khan. I’m, uh. Okay. Start again! I’m Kamala Khan but you can call me Kamala or Ms. Khan or-- and I’m with ‘_ _The Sunday Tea_ _’?”_  
  
  
Steve looked askance at Sam, who shrugged and quickly looked it up on his smartphone. His eyebrows shot up. “Local LGBT magazine,” he said in a loud whisper. Steve frowned in confusion.  
  
    “Ah… and how can I help you, Kamala? I’m happy to help out if I can.”  
  
If they heard her make the slightest squeak of excitement, they graciously ignored it.  
  
_“Thanks, Cap! Tain. America. Captain Ameri-- should I call you Steve? Wait, you said to call you Steve, right?”_ _  
__  
_     “Please,” Steve said, laughing a little. The kid’s energy was infectious.  
  
_“I was wondering if you’d thought any more about the invitation to the Pride parade?”_  
  
Bucky paused in the middle of pouring a cup of coffee. Sam slowly put down his phone. The three of them stared at each other in silence for a few moments. Steve-- or rather, Captain America-- had been asked to show his support at the international Pride parade that coming summer, but he hadn’t answered yet.  
  
    “Sorry, when is that again?” Steve asked, forcing his voice to remain calm.  
  
_“It’s in July, Captain. Steve.”_ Like many people, Kamala seemed hesitant to drop Steve’s formal title and go with his first name.  
  
    “I see.” He was having a silent conversation with Sam and Bucky, trying to gauge their reactions. Going to the parade wasn’t necessarily a problem for him, but it might mean outing his boyfriends.  
  
_“Uh… one more thing,”_ Kamala said, hesitant in a way she hadn’t been until now. _“People are kinda curious if uhm… is Captain America gay?”_  
  
Steve raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t even thought of labelling himself as one thing or another, just going with his gut most of the time. Sometimes that led to dating women. In this case, it had led to dating men.  
  
    “Is the answer important?” Steve asked, nodding gratefully at Bucky as he placed a cup of coffee in front of him. Bucky poured another cup, slowly stirring in cocoa powder and milk for Sam. He was listening carefully to Steve as he talked. He didn’t care one way or another about going to Pride; he didn’t have any particular image to uphold, after all.  
  
_“It could mean a lot to people to know one of their heroes is like them,”_ Kamala said quietly. _“Kids in the closet… people who feel alone, scared… uhm… people who look up to you. Because you’re… you’re always honest about who you are. I mean! It seems? That way?”_ she finished, laughing a little nervously.  
  
Steve looked at Sam, who was chewing his lip. Steve had had a few talks with Sam about how public they wanted to be with their relationship; Sam was obviously not straight, but as a black man in America, that label had more baggage for him than it might for Steve and Bucky.  
  
    “Kamala… I understand. What does your gut say? About me?”  
  
_“Honestly?”_  
  
    “Honestly.”  
  
    “ _That you’re_ ** _not_** _straight.”_  
  
    “Okay. What else?”  
  
Kamala paused. _“That… you’ve got people to protect.”_  
  
    “You’re a smart woman.”  
  
_“Thanks, sir. Look, it’s enough for me. To just… know. It means a lot. To me.”_ She didn’t elaborate, but she didn’t really need to.  
  
    “No ‘sir’ necessary. But… ”  
  
_“But?”_  
  
    “This is my personal life, Kamala.”  
  
_“Yes.”_  
  
    “It has nothing to do with my work.”  
  
_“No.”_  
  
    “Can you hold?” Steve asked, looking at Sam and Bucky with a deep frown.  
  
_“Of course, Captain. I mean, Steve.”_  
  
Steve put the call on hold and turned to the other two.  
  
    “What do we do?” Steve asked. Sam had been silently asking himself that since the call had started. He reached out for Bucky’s hand, who took it and squeezed tightly. They were okay together, happy. Stable. Were they ready for this?  
  
Sam thought of Riley, how he’d fought for Sam up until the day he died. He thought of his mother, deflecting ugly comments about her son from people that were hateful or just didn’t understand. He thought of the Avengers, putting themselves in harm’s way more times than he could count, to save people who sometimes genuinely hated them. He thought about some of the ex-soldiers he met with at the DVA. How they told him in quiet voices about being closeted, about feeling confused and angry at themselves. He thought about how _scared_ he’d been when he first experienced romantic and sexual feelings for men, how much it would have meant to have someone like himself to look up to.  
  
Bucky was strangely calm. He’d spent so long outside of himself, unable to control his own actions. Watching in mute horror as he was used to do things, as things were done _to_ him. He’d been able to find his voice with Steve and Sam, to start to build some idea of who he was now; not who he used to be or who he thought he should be. He wanted to stand by their side. Bucky was no activist, but he wasn’t afraid. Not anymore.  
  
He nodded, once, firmly. “Okay. Talk to her.”  
  
    “Give me the phone,” Sam said, holding out his hand. Steve didn’t move.  
  
    “Sam, think this through. I don’t want to drag you into something ugly. I can do this-- I think I _want_ to do this. You don’t have to be involved. Either of you. I can do this and keep you out of it.”  
  
    “Gimme the phone.”  
  
Setting down his coffee cup, Sam took a deep breath and pressed ‘resume call.’  
  
    “Hi, Kamala?”  
  
_“Hello… sorry, is this Steve…?”_  
  
    “No, but he’s here. My name’s Sam Wilson.”  
  
There was a lengthy pause.  
  
_“Falcon? Oh my g-- Okay, I’m gonna sound crazy, but I have like 3 of your action figures.”_  
  
    “I have action figures?” Sam asked, genuinely surprised.  
  
_“Yeah! I have all of the Avengers-- uh. Sorry. I’m being unprofessional.”  
  
_     “Don’t worry about it. I’m pretty fuckin’ jazzed that I got _action figures_.”  
  
Kamala laughed.  
  
    “So… let’s talk.”  
  
_“Of course!”_  
  
    “We gettin’ a float?” Sam grinned at Bucky, who looked disgusted. Steve hid his laugh behind a cough.  
  
\---  
  
_“… and then he’ll call you later with details,”_ Kamala finished.  
  
    “All right. Thanks, Kamala.”  
  
_“Thank_ ** _you_** _, Cap. Falcon. Mr. Barnes. Uhm, and… thanks!”_ There was a brief pause. “ _I’m trying_ ** _really hard_** _not to ask you guys to sign my action figures and my Bucky Bear--”_ _  
__  
_     “‘Course we will,” Sam said, laughing slightly as Bucky shook his head vigorously in the background.  
  
_“Really?! Like-- actually? You just made my life like… 8000 times better. Thanks again!_ ” Kamala hung up, and Sam looked at Bucky as though Christmas had come early.  
  
    “Mister Barnes is gonna sign a _Bucky Bear_.”  
  
    “Sam, no.”  
  
    “ _Mis-_ ter Barnes.”  
  
    “Jesus. Never gonna fuckin’ hear the end of this.”  
  
    “Hear the end of _what_ , _Missster_ Barnes?”  
  
Steve was too busy laughing to come to Bucky’s defense, as usual, and Bucky took the opportunity down the rest of Steve’s coffee in an ill-conceived attempt at revenge (the lack of milk and overabundance of sugar in Steve’s coffee had the last laugh.) In short, these men were over 100 years old and they were still childish nerds.  
  
_Sam’s_ childish nerds.  
  
Phone still in hand, Sam looked between the two men, feeling something fierce and certain flare in his chest.  
  
_Okay. Let’s do this._  
  
Steve, now lacking coffee, reached for Sam’s cup and took a tentative sip of his drink. Bucky had stepped his coffee-making game up, putting a pinch of cinnamon and a little brown sugar (one of the few areas Sam had refused to go cheap was with food.)  
  
    “Okay… this is actually really good,” he muttered. Sam took back his cup and used it as an excuse to kiss Steve, tasting coffee and chocolate on his lips. Sam put an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, who immediately nuzzled at his neck as he usually did. As Steve moved closer, Sam smirked, not bothering to hide his smugness.  
  
    “ _Yeah_ , it’s good. Some weird stuff mixes pretty damn good sometimes.”  
  
    “Then let’s ‘mix it up,’ _as the kids say_.” Steve grinned, basking in the pained groans of the other two.  
  
    “Least sexy thing I’ve ever fuckin’ heard. Never gonna get hard again.” Bucky made an exaggerated face of disgust as he spoke, even as he tightened his grip on Sam’s waist.  
  
    “Wanna bet, Barnes?”  
  
The cup of coffee slowly went cold on the counter as breathy laughter rang out through the kitchen, and one of their nosier neighbours out for a morning jog got a hell of an eyeful when he glanced through their window.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOW THAT WE'VE COME.... TO THE EEEEEEEND OF THE RO-OAD
> 
> STILL I CAAAAN'T LET GO (lol yes I can)
> 
> Okay. Wow. This is it, the last chapter! Will our boys go to the Parade and make a LOT of bigots mad? Yes, but I ain't writing it. At least not right now. 
> 
> To all y'all that stuck with this fic over its lifespan, THANK you. To all of you that didn't, still thank you for giving me a try. Your comments and kudos still mean the world to me. 
> 
> lmao i can't believe i wrote a short novel about superheroes falling in love smh smh

**Author's Note:**

> (Note: This is post-CW, but you might be wondering... What's the timeline here? Why does Bucky still have his arm? Where the hell do they live?
> 
> Just repeat to yourself, "It's just a fic, I should really just relax." (*pats self on back for MST3K reference*) 
> 
> This beast of a fic started as one thing and swiftly became another altogether.
> 
> Also: Everybody loves Sam, okay? I'm sick of seeing him used only as a prop for other romances. The answer to a love triangle in this case: happy poly ship EVERYBODY IS HAPPY OK *clutches Sam protectively*
> 
> Also also, fic and chapter titles are lyrics from Tame Impala's "Mind Mischief." It is my SHIT.)


End file.
